The Scenic Route
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: After about two seconds with her mouth open and her eyes fixed, though, she recognized him. The ski-jump nose, the long face. Oh, God. Dean Forester. She'd just checked out Dean Forester.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Scenic Route

Summary: After about two seconds with her mouth open and her eyes fixed, though, she recognized him. The ski-jump nose, the long face. _Oh, God_. _Dean Forester_. She'd just checked out Dean Forester.

A/N: So! This is the sequel of sorts to my first Dean Forester fic called "A Shocking Turn of Events." This one is a two-parter and focuses on Dean and Lorelai. However, some people may be interested to know that this fic does not conclude the journey of Dean as my cohort sendintheclowns and I currently are working our way up to an entire verse dealing with Dean after his disappearance on the show. Our working title? The Redemptive!Dean verse, which is not so creative but apt enough :)

A/N 2: This fic was beta'ed by geminigrl11 who is still to blame for all of this and sendintheclowns who is definitely culpable in her own right. And wow. I just realized how LONG this fic is. It's a two-shot, but a long two-shot. I suppose I should say that if people hate Dean this isn't the fic for them...

Disclaimer: So not mine. Though, I got to say, I wouldn't mind having Lorelai's brain for awhile because it's way fun to write.

* * *

Lorelai Gilmore was alone.

Not completely alone, of course, because this was Stars Hollow and she _was_ Lorelai Gilmore. Alone wasn't a concept that truly corresponded to either of those facts. Because Stars Hollow didn't seem to believe in recluses and shut ins, which she was sure was hell on little old agoraphobic women, and seeing as she wasn't capable of sitting still for more than five seconds...

Make that sitting still _or _shutting up. Because there was always something to say and always someone to say it to. Though these days, her empty walls were getting more and more of her attention, not that she would admit that. Quickly, anyway.

The fact of the matter was that she was a social creature with social habits in a social town. But, despite all that, she was, for many intents and purposes, alone.

Because _alone_ by definition meant the lack of constant companionship. While she had her friends (thank _goodness_) and her parents (whether she liked it or not) and she technically had a boyfriend (which was rather amazing), but she was missing a daughter (which was really what hurt the most).

Friends were friends, and in the end it was impossible to figure out who was truly friend or foe. Everyone from the paper boy to her great aunt once removed considered her a friend, so the word had almost lost its meaning. Of course, Sookie mattered, as did Lorelai's associates at the inn, and there was always someone to call if things got lonely.

Her parents were her parents; an unchangeable constant, for better or for worse. They never seemed to change, and their critical nature was as important to her life as their understated love. Dinners were still common; being subject to their scrutiny was a given. They made life interesting, to say the least.

Men were a mess. Difficult and hard to manage, up and down. True, she and Luke were making it work, sometimes better than others. They worked so well as friends, so she was never quite sure why they seemed to struggle so much as a couple; there were times when she just wondered if their stars were crossed or something equally ridiculous. Really, in the end, she supposed she didn't even _need_ a man. Not that she didn't like them. Men were fantastic in many ways and Luke was pretty much the cream of the crop since despite all the ups and downs, all the ons and offs, he was still there.

But unnecessary. Her on and off relationships had taught her that, even if she was currently on again with Luke. Her world had enough clutter. Her _mind_ had enough clutter and bringing someone else into the mix really was just one disaster waiting to happen. She was just glad she figured that out before she put on the wedding ring and subjected Luke to the horror that would have been their life together.

So men, okay. She could do without men. She loved Luke, she did, but if push came to shove, she'd done it alone before and she could do it again. But this whole daughter thing? Much harder to cope with.

She had known men in general longer than she'd known her daughter. That, really, was kind of a given, when she thought about how Rory had been brought into the world in the first place. But no man--not Christopher, not Max, not Christopher again, not even _Luke_--could compare to what she gained from knowing Rory. Sure, being a mom had its stresses and difficult moments. Trying to help her daughter not have a nervous breakdown by the age of 18 was certainly a trial with an overachiever like Rory, and helping Rory navigate her own romantic messes was nerve-racking in its own right (and really, just reinforced why men in general were so totally overrated to begin with).

Rory was the constant. What kept Lorelai grounded, if she could ever call herself grounded to begin with. Rory was her stability, what kept her from totally going off the deep end like so many people in Stars Hollow seemed prone to do (which, she really had to wonder, was it a coincidence? Something in the drinking water? Or just the slow insanity that comes from only knowing the same group of people throughout life?).

Of course, Lorelai knew that this was the 21st century. Yes, there were fantastic modern devices like cell phones and computers which she could employ to keep in touch with her daughter and her daughter's burgeoning career. And of course she used every one of them. Learning to text message had been a trial, but she was an old pro at it now, and she had the phone bills to prove her consistent and stalwart efforts to remain constant in Rory's life.

But still. It was different. Texting meant keeping words to a minimum, a talent she had never possessed. Email was okay and it allowed her a much higher word quota but the run-on sentences even gave her a headache when she was the one writing the email (and Rory, despite her journalistic expertise, was not all that concise herself when it came to personal emails). Phone calls were their best bets, but getting ahold of Rory these days was a bit of a trial. Because, while Lorelai seemed to be settling into her life, Rory's was just beginning.

Lorelai remembered times like that from her own youth. Times of excitement and the promise of meeting people and going out. With Rory so hard to track down, she was beginning to realize a terrible fact: she was getting old.

She wasn't an overly vain person, but she was a woman, a sometimes-single woman who was rapidly approaching the days when the concept of beauty would be a fleeting memory. She was becoming the age of the woman she critiqued: actresses past their prime, super models in the magazines who were turning pruny and pinched as their bodies wore out. She was getting _ma'am_-ed more often than not and she was starting to tell stories about _when she was a child_.

It was positively wrong. Reprehensible. Yet a slow decline that she couldn't prevent. Perhaps she had been harsh on Joan Rivers and the extensive plastic surgery. Lorelai wasn't running out there trying to cling to some notion of her youth that was gone, but it damn well wasn't _fun_ realizing just how far away it was.

Normally, it wasn't _that _bad. When she was sane and not feeling melodramatic (which really did happen more than Luke ever liked to admit--it wasn't _her_ fault that he was the epitome of mundane when it came to emotions), she coped quite well with being older. She wasn't walking around in skimpy clothing, she hadn't whaled out from a lack of activity. She was still with-it enough to pass as a normal person (most of the time) and she was steady enough with Luke that she didn't look like a pathetic old maid.

Now if she could just find someone to talk to, someone to connect with, someone like _Rory_, then she'd be all set.

Too bad having another daughter was kind of out of the question. Even if it wasn't, it wasn't like she was looking to get knocked up. Not that she didn't want to from time to time. But she could only imagine what kind of conniption fit Luke would throw. The poor man struggled enough to be a father; she didn't need to splice their jointly defective DNA together to create a new life. She was almost afraid to imagine what that would entail.

Besides, having a child now would make her practically decrepit by the time the kid was old enough to really enjoy. Rory hadn't gotten past the needy and difficult stage until she was well into her teens, and even then, it was hit or miss. By that time a brand-new kid hit that age...well, by that time the kid would have to visit her in a nursing home, with Lorelai struggling to remember his/her name.

And really, Lorelai didn't want another child. She wanted Rory. She could never begrudge her child's success, but she had to admit, it would have made her very happy to see Rory successful right there in Stars Hollow.

But it wasn't what Rory wanted. And even before what Lorelai wanted for herself, she wanted what was best for Rory.

Damn being a mother and the altruistic current that came with it!

All this meant was that Lorelai had more time on her hands, as scary as that was. There was a Rory-sized hole that was pretty hard to fill. So she had taken to developing some hobbies.

Her attempt at knitting had been a disaster from the start. She had thought it would be a wise choice considering her affinity for the sewing machine.

She was wrong.

Her mother had been more than a little befuddled at her request for yarn, and Luke had been downright afraid of her with those knitting needles (and true, she did have a habit of leaving them in inconvenient places--the bathroom, the kitchen drawer, between the couch cushions with the pointy end up). Her first and only project had been a dilapidated scarf that Luke had worn for approximately five minutes before Lorelai was so ashamed that she made him burn it. Truly. Right there in the fireplace.

Then, there had been rose mauling. Honestly, she had just liked the name; mauling roses certainly sounded like something she could get into. When she discovered it involved paint and precision and patience, her interest had waned, and she was left with a stock of paints and brushes that she wasn't quite sure what to do with.

There had been the guitar after that (until her A string broke and now the poor instrument sat collecting dust in Rory's old room), her fanciful notion of writing a novel (until she realized that Rory's literary talents surely came from Christopher, not her mother), her jewelry making, her coin collecting--and the list could go on, if she could only remember the rest of it.

Her current effort was something that was time-consuming, good for the environment, and beneficial to the town. Perhaps with all these positive qualities, Lorelai thought, she might be able to stick with it. It did require a little bit of getting dirty, but that was all the more reason to go buy some new "work" clothes. And a hat. A big one. Floppy, with a bow.

Because she was going to garden.

Plants, of the floral variety. She had considered vegetables and other produce, but those required more manual labor--tilling ground and whatnot. She just wanted some pretty flowers--she could live off pizza and Luke's cooking for the rest. So, just flowers. In pots and along the walkway, that kind of thing. Which was how she ended up in her overalls, hat on her head and trowel in her hand, outside, that afternoon.

There was nothing special about it. Just another afternoon in a long line of afternoons that had no particular distinction. Luke was at work because Luke was always at work. The inn was running fine. And all Lorelai had to do was sit around and garden.

Her plants, though, despite her best dutiful efforts, were struggling. They were withering and turning brown and looking positively sick. She couldn't figure out _why_. She watered them and talked to them (and they _liked _that, she was sure) and even plucked the weeds from their vicinity. Yet the things seemed determined to up and die. Which was about the worst thing ever. She didn't really _like_ playing in the mud and knowing that she'd done all this to end up with a brown-filled front yard? Was positively mortifying.

Anyway, that was when Lorelai saw him.

She'd seen him before. Many times. But at first, she didn't recognize him. Because if she had, her first thought wouldn't have been _damn, _he's _attractive_.

He was. Tall and lean but with muscles packed on hard beneath the t-shirt. Floppy brown hair, sun-streaked and curled at the edges. A long gait, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Though he was fully dressed (_damn_), she could easily see that his arms weren't the only parts of him that were well-muscled. It didn't matter what age she was, what age _he_ was, she knew how to appreciate the goods when she saw them.

Okay, so she was becoming a dirty old woman. Gawking at the attractive young hunks from her front yard. It was possible that this gardening thing wouldn't be a complete loss after all.

After about two seconds with her mouth open and her eyes fixed, though, she recognized him. The ski-jump nose, the long face. _Oh, God_. _Dean Forester_.

She'd just checked out Dean Forester.

Her daughter's first boyfriend, Rory's first love. Nearly twenty years her junior. She'd just ogled and gotten a bit turned on by _Dean Forester_.

"Dean Forester!"

So she hadn't really meant to say it _out loud_, and she wasn't sure if it was the shock of seeing him or the shock that she'd just checked him out, but it was out of her mouth before she could stop it. That was sort of the way her mouth and brain worked. They didn't like to confer before either decided on any action. She wondered if that could be perhaps some kind of cognitive disassociation, but then again, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

The brown-haired head jerked up, startled, then sheepish. He smiled.

It was so familiar. The dimples, the curves of his mouth. The same Dean that Rory had first brought home, the same Dean that Rory had first fallen in love with.

Not _exactly_ the same, of course. He was older now, and his face had filled out some. He didn't look like a bean-pole that could be snapped by a strong wind anymore. His skin was more tanned, his hair even more untamed than ever. Lorelai had to admit, he looked good. Not just in the way that dirty old women looked at young boys and thought they _looked good_ but he just looked good. Healthy, happy.

He slowed at her sidewalk, lingering at the end. "Lorelai," he said, digging his hands deeper into his pocket. "It's good to see you."

She wiped her hands on her overalls and put her hands on her hips, moving toward him and squinting in the sunlight. "It's good to see you, too," she said. "Surprising, but good. I heard you were in college."

Dean nodded. "It's summer," he said. "I took a few classes but I've got about a month before I have to go back and I figured my parents would want to see me."

"Parents usually do," she concurred. "They like to know that their children are still, you know, alive and well and remember who they are. It makes us feel better about ourselves."

Dean laughed. "Yeah."

"So, where are you off to?" Lorelai prompted, noting again his casual clothes. Walking around the streets wasn't illegal or unusual or anything, but usually it meant someone had someplace to be. Otherwise, such a person would be inundated with speculation and questioning, much like Dean was now.

She had lived here too long.

If she couldn't beat them, join them, and let common decency and respect for privacy be damned!

Besides, she'd already asked the question.

"Just heading to town," he said, shrugging noncommittally.

It sounded like a fine answer, but going to town didn't usually mean wandering around neighborhoods in the _opposite _direction. Maybe he was hoping that this was just polite chitchat. Or that she had forgotten basic geography. Poor kid. Forgot who he was talking to. "Taking the scenic route?"

A hint of blush colored his cheeks. "Well, walking lets me think," he admitted. "Sometimes it's hard being at home."

"Ah, yes," she said, the pieces clicking. "You come home for your parents, but there's only so much parenting a kid can take. I feel your pain. Just don't settle close to them. You'll be dealing with them the rest of your life."

"Somehow I don't get the sense you really believe that."

She shrugged. "Maybe not. But it's still good advice even if I would never want to follow it myself. One of those things that really makes sense in theory yet when we try to do it, our emotions get all tangled and in the way and make a generalized mess of things. Very typical, I'm afraid."

"Yeah, the human condition," he agreed. "We all end up doing stupid things because they seem right. Sometimes they are, sometimes they aren't."

It had been casual, if awkward, up to that point. But that just sounded sad. Regretful. Well, the kid wasn't stupid. He did know who he was talking to--someone who knew all about his mistakes and regrets and probably didn't feel like he'd made many choices right at all. Which, really, he hadn't. This was the kid who had taken her daughter's virginity, which was never an easy thing for a mother to really deal with. And it wasn't so much the whole virginity thing (because God knew he did _love_ Rory and that daughter of hers, despite her perfection, was going to lose it sometime), but the fact that he'd done it while he was married. Not exactly the epitome of responsibility. Needless to say, she hadn't expected it of him, but she'd watch the kid self-destruct after Rory. She shouldn't have been surprised.

When he disappeared from Rory's life for good, it wasn't like Lorelai was surprised. Rory hadn't loved him, not at that point, anyway. She loved the _idea _of him, she loved the stability and dependability (after Jess' spontaneity burned her--Rory should have seen that coming), and damn it, all of that was as much Rory's fault as Dean's because it was so clearly obvious that he was nothing but goo around her. Always had been, even from the very start. Every mother's dream for her daughter's mate. Which was why Lorelai had _liked_ him so much to begin with. But when that guy is bonded to another girl, when that guy is _married_...well, it made him a little less likeable. A lot less.

Complicated. That was all. Complicated, and Dean may have loved Rory but he had too many issues of his own to work out at that point. Lorelai knew that. She understood it. And while she hadn't talked to him since he walked away that last time, she never really hated him. A little, probably, because of that whole virginity and adultery thing that wasn't so cool. But she wasn't blind enough to see him as solely responsible, just solely screwed up in the head. She pitied him more than anything, and from the look on his face, he pretty well knew it.

So, she smiled. Years had passed. Rory had made more mistakes (did she even need to _think _about Logan?) and had more successes (an Ivy League degree was rather substantial, by _anyone's_ standards). And Dean--well, Dean was a man now, and Lorelai could only hope that he'd grown into that role. "That's what they say. Stupid is as stupid does."

His brow furrowed. "I never understood what that means."

"Me neither," she said. "But really, it doesn't matter. Sounds wise and all. And if it worked for Tom Hanks, then I figure it would probably work for us since he is an award winning actor and all."

"And a stable one at that," Dean agreed. "Doesn't seem nearly as flighty as most."

She nodded sagely. "Yep, no 21 day incarcerations for him. So he's probably pretty trustworthy."

"You still do movie night?"

"Eh, sometimes," she said. "There's a plethora of horrific movies to entertain, but I'm sorely lacking in viewing partners. Somehow critiquing it to myself just isn't as much fun. No one to laugh at my accent, and really, if there's no one to laugh at the accent, then you're just talking to _yourself_ with an _accent_. And it makes you look far more insane. Not to mention the calories wasted on downing the entire bag of popcorn by yourself."

The sunlight ducked behind a cloud and her eyesight eased, focusing in on his face. "That's right," Dean said, crossing his arms across his chest. "Rory's moved. To...?"

"Oh, everywhere and nowhere all at once. She was on the campaign trail for a while."

Remembrance flitted across his face. "Right, right," he said. "Seems like her kind of thing."

Lorelai smiled, a little forced and made a grand motion with her trowel. "You know kids, they want to see the world, or at least the fifty states. Be crazy. Go places. Following the dream."

"Well, if there's one thing true about Rory, it's that she gets what she wants," Dean said. "She doesn't know how to settle."

There was something wistful in his voice, something almost sad, and suddenly he was 18 years old again and sitting on her front porch saying, _She likes Jess, doesn't she?_ If anyone knew about Rory and her tenacious grip on her dreams--at _any_ expense--it was Dean. Dean who had given Rory her first kiss, her first love, her first time, her first _everything_ it seemed.

But Rory was her daughter. Dean was just the boyfriend who hadn't quite made the cut. She had to pick her daughter over him, not that it was a contest, but offering him sympathy almost seemed damning. Betrayal.

And Lorelai was many things and had probably betrayed many people (she would _never_ ask Luke about that) but never Rory. Not her Rory.

Still, it seemed wrong not to cheer the kid up. He looked practically like a kicked puppy and she was the type to _help_ kicked puppies. Assuming, of course, that they were cute and small and friendly. And potty-trained.

Dean was surely potty-trained. He had the cute thing down. Not so much the small, but friendly, probably. And did she mention cute?

"So what about you?" she asked, realizing she had yet to really ask him about himself. "I heard you got into UConn. You know, after that whole electrocution thing."

He smiled meekly, the flush returning to his cheeks. That flush wasn't shame, though, not to her oh-so-discerning eye. It was embarrassed pride. He just seemed sorely out of place with it, like he wasn't used to people caring. "Yep."

"What are you studying?" she prompted, a little over-zealous. She could be zealous under normal circumstances and when the person she was talking too seemed to be lacking in that area, she went into overdrive. She had to compensate, of course. Because every conversation needed to be zealous or it just didn't feel right and if one person was decidedly un-zealous, the other person had to make up for it. It was surely some unwritten rule. Probably some obscure type of etiquette her mother could lecture her about, should Lorelai desire such a lecture.

Funny that she was never the un-zealous one. Nor was that a lecture her mother ever felt compelled to give her, and her mother had felt compelled to give her just about every _other_ lecture imaginable.

Un-zealous wasn't even a _word_.

"Engineering," he replied.

"Right!" she exclaimed. "You always did have that thing with cars. Fixing them and building them. Even impressed my dad with that one."

Impressed might have been an exaggeration, but it didn't matter _that_ much. Considering her father's first impressions of Dean, the begrudging admission that he'd been too hard on the boy was quite a feat for the kid to score.

A shy smile crept across Dean's face and Lorelai sensed victory. People liked compliments. Compliments were good. Compliments made him look less like a kicked puppy and more like the strapping young man he surely could be. That _would _be a sight to see. Dean in full form. He had the form and the figure and the looks--now he just needed the self-confidence. She couldn't give him that, but she certainly wasn't going to leave him as the kicked puppy. What kind of dirty old woman would she be if she did?

"It's a lot of work," he admitted, and she noticed a shift in his voice. It got deeper, strong. His shoulders straightened, almost timidly though. Like he wasn't sure it was okay to be proud. "But it's been good. I'm already looking into internships for next year. Something with a major auto company. I might even get in with GM."

"GM--good American brand," she said. She tapped her trowel on her overalls thoughtfully. "I always thought it was a shame they got rid of Oldsmobiles. Not that I ever had one, but I never thought they were so bad. I think it was the name. Oldsmobile. Who wants to buy a car with _old_ in the name? Much less mobile. I mean, it's like they're marketing it specifically to people who miss the days of no seatbelts and glass that shattered."

"They could have called it the Newsmobile," Dean suggested.

She made a face. "But then people might expect it to deliver newspapers or something."

"That'd be their marketing ploy," Dean suggested. "Comes with a daily subscription to your newspaper of choice."

"Ooh, I like it," she said. "Very modern. Very journalistically-minded. Rory would love it."

At that, his smile faltered slightly, but stayed strong. "At least they could count on one buyer."

"Two," she jumped in quickly. "Because of course I'd need to have one to follow Rory's writing. And I'll bet my parents would get one, too. Maybe two or three. They like to have cars to sit around and do nothing with. I guess it makes them feel rich."

Dean chuckled a little, looking down. When he looked back up, his bangs over his face, she realized suddenly how much he'd grown. He wasn't the same kid--not the one who had fallen for Rory, not the one who had clung to her so hard, not even the one who'd made a mess of his marriage. He was someone else, someone stronger--not quite self-confident, but someone who knew how to make it. Someone who _was_ making it, only without the flash and flair.

"Well," she said. "You have quite the future in the auto business. Be sure to pitch the Newsmobile in your classes."

"I will," he said. "And don't worry, you'll get some of the credit."

She snorted a little, feeling herself relax. She remembered this. The joking. The camaraderie. Why this kid was so _lovable _to begin with.

"So you're...gardening?" Dean asked, noting for the first time her overalls and trowel.

"Yeah," she said. "It was either that or try to find animals in the clouds and since it's a clear day, I guess my eyes are earthbound. Not that it's doing any good. They all seem to die. My yard looked better _before_ I paid attention to it."

"Well I can tell you right now if you move your pots off the porch, they'll do better."

Brow furrowed, Lorelai looked at him quizzically. "And you know this how? Some almighty connection with the plant world?"

He laughed a little. "My grandmother gardened a ton," he said. "Every time I visited her, she spent hours out there and would just talk and talk and talk about flowers and how to make them grow. You've got sun plants in a shady location. Never a good mix."

"There are sun plants?" That was news to her. Did the plants simply speak a language she wasn't listening to?

"Did you even _read_ the tags when you bought them?"

"The tags? The thing that said the price?"

"And the name and the care instructions. Just turn them over."

She considered that for a moment. "I was really more concerned with what color they were."

"Well, I'm pretty sure brown wasn't what you were going for."

"Hey," she said with mock indignation. "Brown is a universal neutral. It goes with _anything_."

There was a twinkle in his eye now, subtle and withdrawn but there. The kicked puppy was receding. "The wilting look isn't quite in, though."

"Awww," she said and reached out to shove him backwards. "I thought you were an engineer--"

She was going to say _not a gardener_. That was the joke, or the line, really because there was no real punch line to it. It still would have been cute enough, funny in that friendly way of two pals bantering. Not that they were necessarily friends, but old acquaintances, and who was to say that friendship was out of the question? She was accepting that she was a dirty old woman and Dean hadn't been Rory's boyfriend in _years_ and surely there was some kind of statute of limitations on how long she had to distance herself from Rory's exes. Not that she wanted to see most of them. Jess had been a self-absorbed, angst-riddled degenerate most of the time and Logan had been far too pure-blood for Lorelai's tastes, but Dean had always been more her kind of people. Down to earth. Marginally sane, except for the whole temper and cheating on his wife thing, but she was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt at this point.

So it would have been the perfect thing to say, were she not so busy talking with her hands. It wasn't a totally uncommon problem for her, but Dean apparently had forgotten that about her. He hadn't dated Rory in, well, years, so Lorelai supposed that part of her was forgettable. Or perhaps she merely underestimated her own shock.

Because, clearly, it was not going to be her day. Or his for that matter. Coincidence was working against them. Casual conversations were nice and all, but what happened next--

Well, you had to see it to believe it. And Lorelai _did _see it and she still wasn't sure she believed it.

Because Dean took one step back. One _small _step--hardly _anything_. And it was that _exact _moment that a bike came by.

Not some little kid on a trike or something. But a bike. A big one. Going pretty fast. And straight. Right into Dean.

It was almost comical: Dean pinwheeling, the bike plowing. But the collision was nothing like she could have imagined. Not that she had often imagined bike/human collisions, because really, who did? She had heard of cars hitting bikes and deer hitting cars, but bikes hitting people? On the sidewalk? In Stars Hollow?

Well, if it was going to happen anywhere, figures it'd be there.

Dean took the brunt of the impact in his legs, the front wheel careening into him and tangling his ridiculously long legs. The force jarred him to the side, knocking him totally off balance and he barely even teetered before being propelled by the bike's force to the pavement.

The collision looked like it hurt. Bike wheel to the leg didn't sound pleasant (metal and rubber moving at a high velocity slamming into _flesh and bone_, after all) and Lorelai couldn't be sure that something else more vital didn't get nicked. But the impact with the ground? Looked vicious.

Falling wasn't fun under good conditions, and this happened so fast that Dean didn't even have time to brace himself. He went down hard and graceless and in the spinning of wheels and sound of metal thwacking, Lorelai couldn't miss the resounding crack.

At first, she thought it might be a broken bone. Arm or leg or something. Unpleasant but not uncommon. But it was much worse than any broken bone--it was Dean's _head_.

Dean smacked his head against the pavement, lying prone as the bike's momentum churned it forward. The rider was rapidly losing his balance, entwined with the bike, falling hard on top of Dean's already flattened figure.

It was like something from a movie. Maybe even the Three Stooges. It was just that ridiculous. Dean on the ground, sprawled, and the bike and rider on top, wheels spinning free and the rider grappling to stand.

Only in Stars Hollow, Lorelai had to admit. This was exactly the kind of thing to happen here. Forget drive-by shootings and gang violence. They had runaway bicycles and freak collisions with pedestrians. What could make it better?

The bicyclist wasn't just some random kid. Nope. It was Kirk.

"Kirk!" she said. "What are you doing?"

The man was looking for his bearings, trying to find a way to get himself up and off the ground--or up and off Dean, as it were.

She winced as he rocked, any movement he made impacting hard on Dean.

"I...I..."

Reaching down, she pulled at the bike, tugging it until it cleared Dean's legs. "Get up!"

"I'm trying!"

He was trying, in the uncoordinated Kirk way in which effort never meant success. "Try harder!"

She yanked again, harder now and Kirk yelped. "Careful! That's a prototype!"

It pulled free and she tossed it aside, looking at it for the first time. It had the look of a bike, more or less, with the wheels, the seat, and the handlebars. But it had something strapped to it, some kind of weird contraption oddly placed where a water bottle should have been. In fact, it looked rather ridiculous, like someone had had way too much fun with duct tape. Which really, she was pretty sure Kirk had. Kirk and duct tape was a scary combination. Though it also gave her a pleasant image in her mind of him taped to a chair with a strip over his mouth.

Focus. She needed to focus. "A prototype?"

"My latest invention!" Kirk exclaimed, rolling off to the side. "My attempts to develop a motorized bicycle."

"Yeah, it's called a motorcycle," she said, looking disdainfully at the thing again.

"Does that _look_ like a motorcycle?" Kirk accused.

He had a point on that one. It looked more like an inept geek's attempt at a science experiment. "I'm still not getting the point," she said. "Motor plus bicycle equals _motorcycle_."

Kirk would not be dissuaded. "No, no," he said. "Still run partly on manpower which charges a battery to give the bike extra periods of zest for long distance travel. It's quite ingenious. The perfect mix for exercise and travel, not to mention environmentally-friendly in these days of oil woes."

She just looked at him for a moment, a bit perplexed, a bit annoyed, when she remembered Dean. He was far less difficult to deal with than Kirk was. "Dean," she called. "Hey, Dean."

The kid was still sprawled on the ground, looking rather limp. He was mostly on his back, though his legs were askew from being tangled with the bike. His head was tilted to the side and his eyes were closed.

"Oh, God!" Kirk exclaimed. "Is he dead?"

She scowled at him, squatting. "Dead people usually don't breathe," she said, noting the steady rise and fall of Dean's chest. "Your ingenious motorcycle wannabe isn't _that _powerful."

"It's a motorized bike!"

"Whatever," she muttered, reaching a hand out to rouse the kid. All that maturity she'd seen before, all the age and growth, seemed to shrink away in his unconsciousness. He didn't even look like a kicked puppy. He simply looked like he was five, and that made her heart tighten in her chest. Because if there was something worse than looking at a kicked puppy, it was looking at a wounded five year old.

"Is he okay?" Kirk asked suddenly, as if he'd finally realized there were people in this world outside himself. Moreover, not that there were just people, but people that he had apparently run over with a _bicycle_. Running over pedestrians was probably not a good launch for any prototype.

Lorelai ignored him (for now, anyway, she'd deal with him and his damned bike when she had time to thoroughly chastise him) and touched Dean's shoulder. "Dean," she said. She shook the shoulder lightly (not noticing how firm it was, of course not, that would be entirely inappropriate at a time like this, at a time like _ever_). "Hey, Dean."

And there it was. A groan. A fluttering of eyelids.

Sitting back on her heels, she smiled as he came to, relieved. Because while Kirk may have been the idiot riding some sort of motorized bike, she was the idiot who had accidentally knocked Dean into Kirk's wayward path. Not that she was about to admit that to Kirk by any stretch of the imagination, but she couldn't deny it to herself. Not yet, anyway. If she gave it a few days, she was pretty sure she could rationalize anything, but first things first--she needed to make sure the kid was okay.

Dean's hand went to his head and he used the other to slowly prop himself up, still blinking slowly. So he no longer looked five, but still only looked about ten, which was better than five, she supposed, but her maternal instincts still went into overdrive when it came to wounded ten year olds. "Dean?" she asked again, trying to get a look at his face.

He squinted, looking up at her, more than a little dazed. That probably made sense. After all, that thunk had been rather meaty. _Hello, pavement, meet Dean's head_ and all that. Not to mention that it had rendered him unconscious. She'd seen a lot of fluke accidents in her time, but very few had resulted in anything serious, and really, a loss of consciousness was quite serious. In fact, it kind of freaked her out--all that absence of awareness where the mind just shuts down. She didn't want to experience it herself, and so of course she wasn't about to wish it on anybody, especially not Dean Forester, no matter how he took her daughter's virginity and cheated on his wife.

Those were other issues for other times. She needed to focus. Dean. Motorized bike. Head injury. Because he still wasn't saying much and that confused look in his eyes took him back down to the age of eight.

"Dean?" she tried again. "Say something there, kiddo."

"Lorelai?"

Well, he knew who she was, which she figured was pretty good. She couldn't be high on his list of essential things to remember, so his memory was probably pretty intact. She smiled again. "The one and only. How are you feeling there?"

He fingered the side of his head, and for the first time Lorelai could see the abrasion and trickle of blood coming from around his hair line. "My head hurts."

A bit concerned, she reached out and turned his head so she could see. Sure enough, road rash, and a nice gash. Didn't look too deep, but it didn't look like fun. "Yeah, that happens when you hit your head."

He pulled away a little. "What happened?"

Okay, so much for the memory thing being an all-clear. "You don't remember?"

His brow furrowed (oh, come on, he looked _five _again) and he shook his head slowly, almost cautiously. "Uh, I got hit?"

So it was a guess, but a pretty good guess, and perhaps it all happened so fast that he didn't really have time to process it. "Yeah," she said. "Kirk mowed you over with his bicycle."

"Motorized bike!" Kirk interjected, huffing angrily. "And I did _not_ mow him over! He stepped in my path!"

"They're called brakes," she said.

He knit his brows. "I haven't gotten that far in the technology yet."

Lorelai rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Dean. "You think you can stand up?"

Pressing a hand to his forehead, he managed to nod, shifting his weight as he tried to get his legs beneath him.

She hovered, her trowel-less hand out as if to steady him, though she didn't touch him. It was kind of a moot point--after all, if he fell, there'd be very little she could do to actually stop his descent, short of getting squashed by a massively large freak of nature. Incredibly good-looking freak of nature, of course, but that didn't change how squashed she'd be and just how hard Dean would fall regardless.

Dean, however, didn't seem to be having the same train of thought.

For a horrible moment, he wobbled, swaying noticeably as his long arms flailed out to compensate. Despite the whole getting squashed thing, her mothering instinct still made Lorelai grab him, holding his arm and hoping to help steady him. "Easy there," she said. "The whole point was to stay _off_ the ground."

Luckily for all of them (even Kirk, who had to be thinking about the dangers of a lawsuit from running over a kid with a motorized bike), Dean stayed on his feet, though he still looked a bit like the Leaning Tower of Hotness from her perspective.

Dean blinked hard again, and his eyes rose to meet hers. "Lorelai?"

"Yeah, we've been here and done that," she said. "You going to be okay? You look a little pale."

A little pale was an understatement. The color had fully washed from his face. She could only hope he wasn't about to hurl. She wanted to take care of kicked puppies and wounded five year olds and dazed hot ex-boyfriends of her daughters, but she did _not_ want to deal with puke.

"Yeah," he said slowly, tentatively. "I...I think so."

Reluctantly, she released his arm, still watching him carefully (for puking or for falling, it didn't matter). "You sure?"

He nodded, his eyes clearing some. "Yeah," he said. "I just got a little dizzy there. I got hit...with a bike?"

Kirk's shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes. "_Motorized bike_," he said emphatically. "It's a motorized bike. Can't you people tell the difference?"

Dean still looked confused, which he probably had a right to be. Because getting run over, smacking his head and passing out was enough to worry about.

Lorelai decided to intervene. For all their sakes. "Motor or not, Kirk, you still ran him over," she said. She moved a little closer to Dean, inspecting his face carefully. "We probably need to get you looked at."

"But it was an accident!" Kirk wailed.

"That you were responsible for!" Lorelai fired back.

Before Kirk could respond, his voice higher and more dramatic than before, Dean held out a conciliatory hand. "I'm fine," he said. "Really. It was just an accident. I don't need to get checked out."

Lorelai was skeptical. She wasn't a doctor, but the kid had been out cold and fully dazed when he came to. His color still wasn't great and the bruise on the side of his head was looking progressively worse. "Just to be safe--"

"He said he's fine!" Kirk interjected. "He's _fine_. See? Fine. Which is more than I can say for my bike."

They both watched as Kirk leaned down to examine the bike, stroking it lovingly. "All my hard work," he moaned. "I'll probably have to rewire the motor."

"Is that even safe?" Dean asked, squinting at the contraption. His confusion seemed to flicker and refocus not on what had happened but at the engineering mystery in front of him.

Which was another thing she didn't need. Or want. She only had so much patience for true engineering geekery and for Kirk and his stupid bike and she really just wanted to make sure the kid was okay before she let him investigate the ins and outs of Kirk's less-than-proficient craftsmanship.

"I hardly think _safe_ means running people over," Lorelai said, putting a hand again on Dean's arm. "Come. Inside. You. Now."

"I told you, I'm fine," he said, more insistently.

And, to his credit, his voice sounded stronger and more certain. But he'd been knocked out. He'd _wobbled_. She couldn't just let him walk away if he had a concussion. She needed to make sure he was okay. Kids that age tended to not realize the seriousness of some things. Like Rory and her broken arm. Like Rory sleeping with Dean. Like Rory moving in with Logan.

Enough with Rory. Dean was the concern now. Rory was off on her own making her own mistakes on her own time and there was nothing Lorelai could do about that except hear all the juicy details later. What she could do, however, was make sure that Dean Forester didn't die from Kirk's misguided attempts to make money or her own over-zealous way of talking.

"Just come inside," she said. "Sit down for a bit and let me get you a glass of water. I just want to make sure you're okay before you go off traipsing down the sidewalk in this heat."

"Traipsing?"

"Walking, skipping, jumping, I don't care," she said. "I don't want you passing out again."

"I didn't pass out."

She raised her eyebrows. "Then what do you call that limp routine you pulled a few minutes ago on my sidewalk? Had a sudden need to sleep?"

Dean seemed to deflate a little.

"Come on," she cajoled now. "Just humor me. I have so few people in my life to hover over that it'll do me good."

That was the right approach. Don't appeal to common sense or logic or anything else that was supposed to work with guys. All she needed to do was guilt trip him, and he folded just that fast. She should have remembered that about him--always eager to please, almost to a fault. "Okay," he relented. "Just for a little bit."

"There you go," she said, grinning broadly now. Fault or weakness or whatever, she'd exploit it now. She didn't want to have to worry about him getting home without another face plant to the sidewalk. Because Lord only knew what kind of predators who come across him if he did? She may be getting to being a dirty old woman herself, but she was one with restraint. _Some_ restraint since this was Dean Forester, after all. "You ready to go?"

He nodded slightly, as if the movement still hurt him, but she could tell that he had his senses about him enough to at least downplay that. Clearly, he wasn't looking for her sympathy, even if he was willing to let her play her mothering game. She could only count that as an improvement.

"Great," she told him, putting a gentle hand lightly on his arm. "Let's get out of this sun."

She began walking, slowly, and to her relief, Dean followed, albeit even more slowly. The walk up to the house wasn't long by any stretch of the imagination, but it certainly _felt _longer today. Perhaps it was his unsteady gait, maybe it was the snail's pace, maybe it was the fact that she suddenly felt oddly conspicuous in her overalls in the scorching summer sun. There was no one around, but that didn't mean that no one would know. That people wouldn't somehow know by tomorrow that she'd had a part in knocking Dean Forester out and then had tried to play nursemaid to him like some sort of demented Florence Nightingale.

Yes, this was better than the ambulance. An ambulance would have attracted a crowd instantly. The rumors would have been fierce. This was there'd be little proof to substantiate them. Of course, she wasn't taking into consideration Kirk's mouth and his propensity to tell ridiculous stories.

Wait, that was _her _who told ridiculous stories. Although, at least hers were usually accurate. On some level.

That was all beside the point.

At the stairs, she climbed cautiously, watching him attentively as Dean dragged his feet up the steps. He did look steadier--which could only be good--but still not up to par. After all, he was a young, athletic-looking kid and he was tackling those stairs with the agility of an aging old man.

When he reached the top and she was satisfied that he wouldn't tumble back down them, she opened the door, making sure his hand gripped the open screen behind her before she stepped in. The inside was cool and dim, from the air conditioning and the lights being off.

"It's not exactly the Ritz," she said, putting her trowel down on the table by the entryway. She'd have to clean it later, but really, like that mattered. What else would she be doing? Another hobby she couldn't sustain? Knocking more of Rory's ex-boyfriends into oncoming bikers?

Gingerly, Dean shut the door behind him. "I'm sure it's fine," he said, smiling lightly as he looked around. "Looks just like it used to, and, if I remember, you have pretty comfortable couches."

She narrowed her eyes. "You spent far too much time on my couch," she said. "Only watching movies, of course."

His head dipped. "Of course," he said. "And eating popcorn."

"Yeah, don't look in the cushions; it's probably still there."

"Still as meticulous as ever."

She led him into the living room. "I'd hate to start cleaning now," she said. "No sense picking up any good habits to waste my time on. I have to use my free time on all my bad habits."

"Like killing plants," he noted.

"Killing plants takes quite a bit of effort," she agreed. "I think you'd be surprised."

"At the Gilmore house? Very little surprises me."

"Touché," she said. "Now sit."

He looked like he wanted to protest, but he also looked like he wanted to fall asleep standing up. No matter how lucid he was, no matter how straight he was able to walk, that thwap to his head clearly was still lingering with him. "Maybe just for a little bit," he said gingerly, lowering himself into the couch.

"You know you miss it," she said. "That couch and you go pretty far back."

"Yes, I developed quite a bond with that couch," he said. "Don't even get me started on that VCR."

"Ooh, we upgraded to DVD," she said. "But we kept the old fella just for kicks."

"And to view all the countless VHS tapes you still own," he said.

"But of course," she said. "Because really, VHS is the way to go."

He nodded, sinking lower into the couch cushions. "The grainy quality, the quick film degradation."

"A very authentic experience. DVDs are all clear and easy to use, but the rewind is not nearly as convenient."

"Which is definitely problematic when you want to rewatch the same scenes fifteen times."

"Fifteen? Try twenty. Thirty. Forty! You can never see the same scene too many times."

"How else are you going to memorize it?"

"See, that's why we got along so well," she said. "You very much understood some of the basic Gilmore values."

"You have to love them or hate them," he said, his smile dimpling his cheeks. He was looking up at her through the fringe of bangs and he didn't look five anymore, not even ten. He looked like the twenty-something that he was, but still--young. Somehow innocent, though she knew he was far from it. He had no reason to be in good humor. To act like being here wasn't the most awkward thing in the world. Because the memories, the bad vestiges of the past, were all around him. And yet--he was smiling. He was joking. She'd seen him laugh and she'd seen his heart break in this house, and if she were him, she wasn't sure she'd be quite so genial.

"So, water," she said. "You probably could use a little."

"Since hitting your head makes you dehydrated."

Eyebrow quirked, she cocked her head at him. "You still look awfully pale there," she said. "I'd prefer to think that I did more for you than just throw you back onto the streets improperly hydrated. They say that most people don't drink enough water anyway, so really, it can't hurt you. You want ice with that?"

"In the water or for my head?" he asked, reaching his hand up to rub absently at his head.

The area was reddening and a trickle of blood was making its way down his cheek. "Maybe both," she suggested, feeling a twinge of sympathy. "And maybe a wet washcloth before you bleed all over the place."

He drew his hand away, examining the blood that speckled it. "Sorry," he said and he made to move. "I'll go clean this up."

"Sit, sit!" she said, putting her hands out to stop him. "You are my patient and I am your nurse. Just humor me, okay? You're not going to bleed too much and I'd prefer to have you sitting than risk you having another little attack of vertigo."

Sinking back, Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm--"

"--fine, sure. Also macho and in denial. I can still call that ambulance if you'd rather not be cooperative."

The grimace on his face said enough.

"Just like I thought," Lorelai commented. "Now, sit still."

He raised his hands uselessly. "I'll do what I can."

"You always were rather obedient," she said with a smirk as she made her way to the kitchen. "Is that a habit you still cling to now that you're all big man on campus?"

His snort was audible from the living room. "Obedient, maybe. Big man on campus, hardly."

"Aw, come on," she said, rummaging through the fridge for a bottle of water that wasn't half-drained and a year old. "Cute kid like you, studying engineering, has to get all the girls."

"I've got other things to focus on," his voice drifted back to her. "I'm trying to get caught up. You know, make up for lost time."

Plucking up an adequate bottle, Lorelai turned to the sink, pulling a wash rag from a drawer and wetting it slightly. "Very ambitious of you." She rung out the cloth so it didn't drip. "When did you get so career-oriented? I mean, not that you weren't ever looking ahead because you've always been a worker, and you always seemed to be a good enough student, but I seem to remember your days of junior college fixation. Of course, you did get into Southern Connecticut State, if I remember, but you--well, you know--"

Stupid, she thought. Stupid. The kid was beyond that now. He probably didn't want to relive his formative years. Most sane people didn't, but for him, she had to imagine it was even worse. What with losing Rory like that and marrying Lindsay and then giving up on Rory and Lindsay _and _school--it couldn't have been a fun time. All the more reason to swear off relationships and to go to college away from home. Made life easier. Easy was good.

There was no reply from the other room and she braced herself as she gathered her washcloth and bottle of water once more. Undoubtedly, her choice of conversation had worn thin on him. She needed to refocus. On things that made Dean happy. Like his coursework. He liked to talk about that, or at least he seemed to. It was the only part of their conversation that had had any substance and managed to avoid truly awkward levels.

"Right, so, your classes," she started again, moving back toward the other room. "You get to take anything fun? Like how to rebuild a car engine without a screwdriver?"

Lorelai wasn't sure what she'd expected. Perhaps some melodramatic sulking, which would only seem appropriate for a kid his age and in his position, or a lesser version of it. Because he didn't sulk necessarily, not like a little kid, but perhaps like the kicked puppy again. But he looked rather--blank. Staring. Empty.

"Dean?" she prompted, holding out the bottle of water. "You with me there?"

He jerked a little, blinking rapidly and she could see his pupils dilate some. "What? Yeah," he replied quickly, a little breathless.

"You zoned out on me," she said, worry spiking through her. "You feel okay?"

He took the bottle of water, a little shaky. "Yeah," he said. "I'm fine."

"Uh-huh. You know, saying you're fine is usually a dead giveaway to _not_ being fine."

He merely blinked at that, looking a bit confused. "Uh. Right."

So much for the witty banter. The ambulance might have been a better idea after all. "Maybe you should let me get another look at that head of yours," Lorelai suggested gently. "Make sure you still have a brain and all. I'd feel pretty crappy if you lost it on my watch."

Looking at the water, the kid seemed to be sort of clueless as what to do.

Nervous suddenly, she sidled next to him, trying to get a better look at the damage. "You're supposed to _drink_ the water there," she advised him. "Hence the whole being in a bottle thing. I promise you, it's safe. No poisons, no expiration dates. Though I don't think water expires, but you still get the point."

Dean seemed to focus on that, studying the bottle with the utmost concentration, like it took all of his brainpower to compute what to do next. To her relief (and her trepidation), his long fingers started to fumble with the cap. Fumbled once, twice, and then the cap was off and the bottle was jerking, splashing water all over him.

And the five year old was back. Little line between his eyebrows and a small, concentrated frown tugging at his lips. "Sorry," he mumbled, trying to pat himself dry uselessly. "I shouldn't have spilled."

"Hey, no big deal. It adds personality," she said. Because she wasn't worried about the couch. It was just water and really, the mere fact that the kid was suddenly a natural born klutz was more distressing than the thought of another wet spot on the couch. "You sure you're feeling okay there?"

"Yeah," he said, a little breathy. "My head just hurts."

Plausible reason. Dean must have a killer headache. "Well, let me check you out here and then maybe I'll get you some pain relievers. Ibuprofen, the only stuff worth getting. I tried Tylenol for awhile but it just doesn't do anything for me. After so many years, I think I may have an immunity. Which is kind of scary because what if I get an immunity to Ibuprofen, too? Then what will I do for pain relief?"

He turned his head toward her, his expression somewhere between total confusion and utter blankness.

Cautiously, Lorelai brought the cloth up to his temple, brushing his hair away gently.

Hissing in pain, he pulled away, his eyes wide and surprised.

This was not good. Dean may have let Rory see a softer side of him, one that read books and discussed literature with her, but he was a guy's guy. Had that macho thing down with the muscles and chiseled features. Temper to back it up even. So while Lorelai didn't doubt that it _hurt_, this wasn't the kid she'd been talking to before. This wasn't the college student who might have an internship at GM and could battle her wit for wit until the day was done.

Pulling her hand away, she studied him carefully. "Dean, do you remember what happened?"

He blinked, and she noticed just how hazel his eyes were. And how they were filling with tears? "I...hit my head."

Not good. Sure, the right answer technically, but he knew more than that. He should know more than that. His dizziness, his sudden spaciness, his lack of coordination, his emotionality. Now, his lack of memory. Her stomach flipped, churning uneasily. "Do you know where you are?" Her voice was hesitant, reluctant. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

Eyes flicking, he seemed to take in the room. "Rory's," he said, and there was a distinct slur this time. "Rory always had the nicest house."

Technically, the kid was two for two, but she was not reassured. "Do you know who I am?"

This time, Dean's eyes turned back to her, still wide and wet. "I'm sorry, Rory," he said, the words tumbling over each other. "I was so unhappy and I loved you so much and I screwed up. I screwed up and let you screw up with me. I loved you, and I never should have let you do that to yourself."

Okay, now _that_ answer was way in left field.

Any doubts she may have had were more than confirmed when he continued, his voice heavier and faster. "I was so lonely, you know, lonely without you. And Lindsay didn't make that better. And you couldn't make that better because I was never the one for you. I wanted to be, and I tried to be but I was nothing but a failure and a screw-up and I'm sorry. You're better off without me and I just want to go home. I just want to get away from here, from the people, from everything, because I'm better away from here. I'm someone else, I'm not just Dean Forester. They don't know just how messed up I am."

She should have stopped him. Should have done _something_. But it was all too stunning to make a move on. Five minutes ago, they'd been catching up and remembering the good old days. Now, Dean was clearly concussed and divulging every emotion he had buried inside of him. It was startling to hear, because the confessions were so_ real_--everything Lorelai had guessed about him, but a level of self-reproach that hurt to hear. And terrifying, because she shouldn't _be _hearing this. This was private, this was Dean's, and here she was trying to nurse his head injury and having complete access to everything.

Not even a dirty old woman could feel good about that.

Oh and she couldn't forget the fact that it was _all her fault_.

"Okay, you know what?" she said. "I think we need that ambulance, okay? I mean, it'll be fun. A nice, fast ride, flashing lights. The whole nine yards. If you have to travel, you might as well do it in style, right?"

Patting him on the arm, she moved to stand, her actions rushed with an air of urgency. Nursemaid, okay. She'd done that before. Raising a daughter pretty much guaranteed that. But maternal instincts only went so far. The kid was _delirious_ and sitting on her couch with what could only be a concussion. Concussions weren't supposed to be this serious, as far as she knew, but the slurring words, the lack of knowing who the heck he was talking to--those were bad signs, she was pretty sure, and she didn't think she needed an MD to figure that out.

No, what she needed as an ambulance.

Unfortunately, Dean wasn't exactly in the most cooperative mood. She'd chalk another one up to his head meeting the pavement after the bike fiasco. He tried to follow her up.

Even worse than Dean's lack of listening skills at the moment, was his utter lack of coordination. He _tried_ to follow her, and the next thing she knew he was a mess of limbs, pitching forward precariously.

Caught off guard, she sought to catch him, stupidly positioning herself underneath his tall, lithe frame. It was instinct, really, because no matter how squashed this could make her, she didn't like the idea of the kid she was supposed to be taking care of smashing through the coffee table, something that would be good neither for him or the coffee table.

"Hey, easy there," she said, bearing his weight for a moment. "You should be sitting."

That was an understatement, and worse, she wasn't sure he had enough coherency left to really make sense of it. But he righted himself a little, easing off of her and collapsing back toward the couch. "Dizzy," he muttered. "The whole room's dizzy."

There was a complete lack of logic in that statement but it didn't seem to be the time to critique that. "You need to stay seated," she said, more sternly now, not because she was angry but because he was scaring the crap out of her.

He didn't try to get up, which was good, which was progress, but his body seemed to go flaccid, slumping back against the cushions, head lolling to the side.

"Oh, hey," she said, panic surging again. She leaned over him, shaking his shoulder. "You got the no standing thing down pretty well there, but we need to do the staying awake thing, too. Awake. You know, eyes open, mouth moving, talking. I don't even care if it's coherent. You can think I'm Rory and tell the room it's dizzy and goofy and anything you want. Just stay awake."

Dean's eyes opened slightly, barely slits. "...can't change it," he slurred. "Tried but I can't...never will."

"Well, you stay awake and we'll try to, okay? We'll try anything you want. We'll paint the room, cover the couch cushions, invest in Kirk's really powerful bikes. Anything you want."

There was no recognition in his eyes as the lids slid over them once again.

"Dean," Lorelai called, shaking him anew. "Dean!"

This time, she got nothing. Zilch, zip, nada. And wasn't that just the way her day was going. She was finally having a conversation with someone to drag her from her pathetic existence and he passed out cold on her couch. Granted, after being harassed by her on the street, getting run over by a motorized bike, and then being dragged into her house. Still, between the two of them, they didn't have enough luck to give a go at penny slots.

So help. It was time for help. It had probably been time for help when it all began, and Lorelai sort of wished she'd listened to her gut instead of her desire to avoid a larger scene than she'd already started. Because now Dean was unconscious on her couch and she didn't even have Kirk around to conveniently draw attention from herself in the entire situation.

_Focus! Ambulance now! Unconscious kid on the couch! Head injury! Delirious talk! Unable to rouse!_

Standing, she moved to the phone, snatching it off its base and dialing quickly. At least the numbers were easy enough, but she was shaking so badly at the moment that she wasn't sure she could be asked to remember basic information.

Which, coincidentally, was _exactly_ what she was asked next.

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

Funny, she'd never called 9-1-1 before. Well, she'd called it but not for an emergency. There was the time she'd accidentally dialed it and really, that time, someone asking her what her emergency was had made her realize her mistake, which was pressure in and of itself, but not the same kind of pressure of _actually having an emergency_.

"Uh, hi," she said. "I have this kid here--I mean, not that I _have_ him or anything but it's my daughter's ex-boyfriend, you see, and he stopped by and was talking to me--"

"Ma'am, what is the nature of your emergency?" the voice interrupted, sounding mildly exasperated.

"Oh," Lorelai said, slightly taken aback. She was _trying _to tell her that much. "Well, he sort of got run over."

"By a car?"

"A bike! Well, a motorized bike--"

"A motorcycle?"

"No, a motorized bike."

"Is he hurt?"

That seemed like a dumb question, yet oddly one like she should have answered already. "Yes," she said, looking back at him again. Dean hadn't moved, he was still lolled against the cushions, looking as limp as ever--all the way back to the wounded five year old. "He was knocked out but he came to right away and when I brought him inside to make sure he was okay he passed out again and I can't wake him up."

There. She said it. Job done. Now, there'd be help and she could stop worrying like the kid was her own.

"You address, ma'am?"

_Score--easy question_. Lorelai answered that one without much consequence.

"Okay, help has been sent to you. Now, the victim--"

"Victim?"

"Daughter's ex-boyfriend?"

"Oh, Dean!" she exclaimed, feeling suddenly ridiculous.

"Is he breathing?"

Concentrating (which was _work_), she made out the even rise and fall of his chest. "Yes," she said. "He just hit his head."

"Is he bleeding?"

"Well, some," she admitted. "I mean, there's a large bruise and a bump and a cut--well, more of a gash, I guess, but I looked at it and it didn't look too deep. It's bled some but head wounds are supposed to bleed a lot and it's definitely not bleeding a lot."

If it were possible to _hear_ someone rolling his/her eyes, Lorelai was pretty sure that the operator probably just did it to her.

"Have you applied pressure to the wound?"

"I tried," Lorelai admitted, looking back at Dean woefully. "But it hurt him. A lot. I didn't really want to inflict any more pain on him, and like I said, it's not bleeding a lot or anything. Not like I would have expected at least."

"Help should be there soon," the operator said wearily. "Do you need me to stay on the line?"

Lorelai couldn't be sure, but it sounded like the operator was hoping she'd say _no_. Which really wasn't all that encouraging. After all, the operator was supposed to _help _her, make sure Dean was okay, tell her what to do, right? Unless there wasn't anything to be done, in which case, maybe Lorelai was just annoying. Well, Lorelai was probably annoying anyway, but Dean was _unconscious_. Did the woman not comprehend that? "Is there something I should do? Put his feet up? Wait, that's shock," Lorelai muttered, beginning to pace back and forth. "I'd make him drink something but I think right now he'd probably just drown."

"Ma'am."

"What?" Lorelai snapped back. "I mean, I guess I could just for the response of his pupils, right? To light? But I really don't know what that's supposed to look like."

"Ma'am, really, the paramedics can handle that."

_Right, the paramedics._ "But where are they?"

"They're in route."

"But they need to be _here_."

"Ma'am, there's only so fast they can go."

"Are you trying to be frustrating?"

"I'm just trying to do my job."

"Because you're really good at it," Lorelai said. "At being frustrating. I'm not really sure about your job."

There was a weary sigh. "Is he still breathing?"

Lorelai's eyes darted back to Dean. To her relief, he was still breathing, in and out, just like he was supposed to be. At least she hadn't screwed things up _that_ badly. "Yes," she said.

"Is it labored at all?"

"Labored? As in, hard? Difficult? I don't know," she said, moving closer to Dean. "I mean, he's not panting or anything if that's what you're talking about. I guess it _looks_ normal, though I can't say I often sit around and watch people breathe, much less Dean, so I can't tell you for a fact that this is totally _normal_."

"You can't hear it, can you?" the operator asked, and that exasperated tone was back. Like she had anything _better_ to do. And this was her _job_. She couldn't really expect people to be perfectly rational when talking on the phone about someone's breathing, labored or unlabored, because it was an emergency, and there were head injuries and delirium and loss of consciousness involved. Right?

Lorelai leaned closer, close enough to smell him, and she had to admit that he smelled pretty good. Clean, not that she expected him not to be clean, but really fresh. He had a good choice in shampoo, at least, because it didn't smell strong enough to be cologne, nor did he seem the type to waste time with that kind of thing.

_Breathing_. _Right_. "Uh, no," she said. "Not unless I get really close. But I don't assume that you mean can I hear it if I rest my head against his chest. Because that would be ridiculous. And entirely inappropriate at this point."

"Ma'am--"

There was a noise in the distance. Distinct. A relief. "They're here!" Lorelai exclaimed, moving from Dean's lax form to the window. Outside the day was warm and bright. "I can hear them."

"Good," the operator said all too quickly. "They can help you from here."

Before Lorelai could reply, or explain anything else, the line went dead. She looked at the phone, surprised, mouth opened, but closed the mouth and put the phone down as she saw an ambulance pull into the drive.

Well. So much for professionalism. But really. About stinkin' time. She'd been fond enough of Dean as Narcolepsy boy, but coma boy?

That was one she didn't want to have to explain to the neighbors.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm glad some people have enjoyed part one :) I forgot to mention that this fic is set post-series, though if you read the first fic, you'd know that. This chapter ends this fic, and if you want the next fic, you must bug sendintheclowns, since that's her baby.

* * *

**Part Two**

The medics, she suspected, were better trained than the 9-1-1 operator, but they didn't seem much friendlier. After a few cursory questions, to which she received quizzical looks (what? Dean _had_ been run over by a motorized bike--it wasn't _her_ fault that this was Stars Hollow and sheer ridiculous was common place), they had started their assessment of Dean, at which point Lorelai was little more than furniture to them.

Watching them work, however, did afford her the chance to get a good look at Dean. She'd been looking at him most of the time anyway, but it was a little weird, she had to admit, watching them poke and prod the kid. Even weirder how totally unaware he seemed.

The medics were a man and a woman, both in their thirties. The guy might have been cute, but he needed to shave more often and try plucking his eyebrows, but those were forgivable sins were he even remotely talkative. He wasn't.

The girl was blonde, but a dishwater blonde, a shade which Lorelai had always found rather unfortunate. She looked a little friendlier at least, with a simple face and a smile that looked more sincere than the guy's did.

They didn't move Dean, which was perhaps Lorelai's first surprise. She supposed that made sense, the whole not-moving-someone deal, which she wished she'd thought of before dragging Dean inside and plunking him on the couch. Not that she could have left him on the hot concrete--heat stroke was probably not something he needed in addition to the head injury.

They picked up Dean's wrist, felt up and down the length of his body (and she thought _she _was a dirty old woman), even lifted his eyelids one by one and shining a penlight in (she _knew_ that was the right thing to do). They murmured to each other, back and forth, not purposefully quiet, but it wouldn't have made any difference. Lorelai didn't have a clue about what was going on.

"So, uh, is he okay?" she asked, arms crossed across her chest as she bounced nervously on her heals to see Dean.

The girl was going through the kit she'd brought in, pulling out various pieces. "His pupils are reactive to light," she said. "A little sluggish, though."

"That's...bad, right?" Lorelai asked. "I mean, you make it sound bad."

The girl smiled up at her, a little blandly. "It's not great, but it could be worse," she confirmed. "It's concurrent with the description of the accident."

Of course. Since sluggish pupils went hand in hand with getting run over by a motorized bike any day.

The girl was already back to work, though, playing with some tubing as she extended Dean's left arm. Her partner was digging around now, but Lorelai watched in morbid fascination as the girl hovered with a syringe above the crook in Dean's arm (and _damn_, he had _nice_ forearms...and those biceps...) before plunging it in. Lorelai winced despite herself, and felt a little sick when Dean didn't even twitch.

In fact, Dean hadn't done much of anything since passing out on her couch. His head was still lolled to his side and his limbs were positioned as the medics had placed them, the one with the IV outstretched and the other cradled in his lap. They manipulated him like he was nothing more than a doll--a life-sized, rather attractive, very heavy doll, but a doll nonetheless.

Which, oddly, wasn't that unusual. Not that she'd seen Dean's body parts as pliable as Play-Doh, but the kid had always been rather easy to manipulate. Or to sway. Manipulate was rather a harsh word, and she had certainly never tried to purposefully do that to the kid. But there was no doubt that he was open to suggestion, something she'd found out from his years of dating Rory. He'd do any chore asked of him, he'd help out with a smile. And that was just her. For Rory...

Well, Rory had no reason to be in want while dating Dean. Any place she wanted to go, Dean took her. Anything she wanted to do, Dean did. Anything she seemed to like, Dean liked, too. It had always been his downfall, Lorelai supposed, the first and the second time. Dean had been so quick to please Rory that she'd grown tired of him, taken him for granted. Jess had been far more exciting; Dean had just been predictable. Rory had been young enough (and women were always this way, it seemed) to think that exciting was better than predictable.

Lorelai had her doubts.

And it had been Dean's readiness to please that led him to delay school to begin with. To work all those hours. To respond to Rory's slightest interest.

Dean was perhaps the epitome of ragdoll-ism. If such a thing existed.

Or at least he _had_ been...

He was different now. He seemed different. Which was maybe why it seemed to wrong to see him lying there so prone.

The male paramedic had carefully slipped Dean into a neck collar, and, between the two of them, they were working Dean onto a backboard and then onto a waiting gurney. Dean's body flopped a little, but they were careful, expertly supporting Dean's body effectively enough to get him situated with minimal movement.

The girl was packing up their things, and the guy was back to checking Dean, talking to him, poking at him again. With his knuckles, he dug deep into Dean's breastbone, an action that made Lorelai wince watching and that elicited a faint groan from Dean. Encouraged, the guy called Dean's name again, but no further progress was made.

With the girl packed and ready to go, they started toward the door, Lorelai hot on their heels. "He's...okay?" she asked. It wasn't an original question, but it was a necessary question, one that despite all the answers they gave here was never really told.

It was the guy this time who spoke, "We're taking him to the hospital."

"And they'll make him better," Lorelai said. "I mean, it's all precautionary."

They were all outside now, easing the gurney down the steps. "Lady, you have to let them do their job," the guy snapped. "You called _us_, remember?"

Yes, that was true. Because she'd wanted to make sure he was okay. They were supposed to _tell _her that. Weren't they?

"Relax," the girl said, flashing another generic grin at her. "Would you like to come along? Your story is...different, and I'm sure the ER staff will have questions about how this came to pass."

The guy glared at the girl, then looked begrudgingly at Lorelai.

Even if Lorelai hadn't wanted to go, she would have gone, just to spite him. But she needed to see this through. Needed to see Dean through. Only twenty minutes ago, they'd been talking, catching up, and she wasn't one to leave conversations unfinished. "Yeah," she said. "I'll come along."

"Great," the girl said, opening the rear door. "You get to ride in the back with James."

James jumped inside, helping the girl hoist the gurney up. Once Dean was settled, Lorelai pulled herself up, finding a place to sit on the bench seat opposite from where James had stationed Dean's gurney. James was busy with some wires and machines and Dean was still.

"And you're sure he's okay?" Lorelai asked as the door closed.

James just looked at her.

This was probably going to be a long ride.

-o-

The ambulance ride wasn't what she expected.

Of course, she wasn't sure what she had expected. It wasn't like she often sat around and thought about what it'd be like to ride in an ambulance. And she'd never even been sure that the whole ride-along thing really happened. Especially when she wasn't even related to the kid. But apparently, they thought she might be useful, at least that was what she figured as they plied her with questions every ten seconds.

Maybe it was the questioning then, that made it seem less than intense. Because just as she was taking in the equipment, the road rushing by them, the sound of the sirens, and Dean's pale face, she was hit with another question from an endless barrage.

"Do you know if he has any allergies? Takes any medications?"

Did she look like his mother? Oh, wait. She probably did. "I really...I mean, I don't think so, but I don't know. He's never said anything about them, but we don't exactly talk a lot so it's entirely possible--"

The medic grimaced a little, leaning over to check Dean's monitors again. "Nothing unusual in his history?"

"You mean like how he _fell asleep_ with my daughter in a dance studio all night when they were seventeen?"

The medic's brow crinkled. "Medically speaking, ma'am."

_Ouch. Ma'am_. She knew she was getting old, but this guy only looked five years younger than she did. Maybe six. "Oh!" Lorelai exclaimed. "A year ago he was electrocuted."

At this, the guy looked up, eyebrows high. "He suffered from an electrical shock?"

"Yes!" she said, a bit thrilled she actually had said something worth saying for once. It was bound to happen with the amount she talked. "Some sort of freak...electrical error."

"No lingering side effects, though?"

"Well, uh, I don't _think_ so," she said. "I mean, we probably would have heard about that, right? Like if he could turn on lights by just pointing a finger at them, I'm sure it would have gotten around town. Though he has been away at college, which is perhaps to hide his new secret identity."

She'd lost the guy again, looking back down at Dean, not that there was any change there. Dean was still unconscious--the whole eyes-closed and way-too-still thing. He had never had the hyperactivity of a Gilmore, but he'd always had a nice activity level that could keep up with Rory, which was on reason Lorelai'd figured they'd worked so well together.

Still and pale, too. He'd been pale since the initial accident, and she couldn't say that it made her feel any better about how he was doing. She almost missed his incoherent rambling--at least with that, she'd known he was alive. Sure, she knew he was alive now, too, with the heart monitor beeping and all that. But it was still so...uncertain. The paleness seemed stark and his long, slack limbs seemed just _wrong_ like that. Like they should be moving. Instead, he was strapped to a backboard with a neck brace stabilizing him.

She had the overwhelming urge to apologize. For talking too much, for knocking him in Kirk's path, for not getting him help right away. For helping him believe that Rory still loved him, for never telling him that it wasn't all his fault.

Too bad her conscience seemed to only kick in when he was pale and unconscious and in the back of some ambulance with the world's hardest-to-amuse medic.

The ambulance turned, a bit sharply, and Lorelai had to brace herself against the wall. The medic barely flinched, still leaning over Dean, fiddling now with the IV line that he had running from Dean's outstretched arm.

"Is he...is he going to wake up?" she asked finally, nodding toward Dean's prone figure.

The medic looked up at her, a bit surprised, almost like he'd forgotten she was there (as if _anyone_ could forget _she_ was there). "That's for the doctors to figure out."

A noncommittal answer. _Wuss_. Too afraid to take a stand. "I know, but in you _experience_, does he look okay? I mean, what's wrong with him?"

The medic sighed. "Look, lady, he hit his head, just like you said. They'll have to do some x-rays to see if there's any kind of skull fracture. The fact that it's not bleeding a lot could be indicative of that. But head injuries are funny sometimes. Sometimes, they can just sneak up and take you under for a bit. It's been about ten minutes since he passed out, which isn't great, but it isn't terrible. He did show some response to deep pain stimuli, which the doctors will assess more when we get there. There's nothing more we can do. Scans will show if there's anything wrong going on in his brain, but other than that....it's a waiting game."

Well that was more information than she'd expected from her tight-lipped friend. And certainly more than she knew what to do with. She liked knowing things and all, and given her own propensity for long-winded answers, she really should be able to take them in just as easily, but this one--all the medical facts, the details--was not nearly reassuring enough.

Fortunately, the ambulance slowed and came to a halt. Lorelai rocked forward as it did; the medic, again unfazed by the change in speed, waited until they were stopped completely before springing to action once more. He unlocked wheels, checking gauges and monitors and when the back door cracked open, daylight streaming in, he was already moving, pushing Dean's gurney toward the edge and his partner. They moved seamlessly, rather remarkably, and a lot like the doctors did on TV, now that she thought about it. It just wasn't nearly as exciting to watch without the background music. Attractive actors were certainly helpful as well, and any character on TV had a more engaging personality than Mr. Bland, medic extraordinaire.

Good thing she wasn't in this thing for a date. Or even just thrills. Because she would have been sorely disappointed. But at this point, her interest wasn't in finding some guy to flirt with (though she doubted she'd turn down such a chance--she _was_ nearly an old lady by now, she had to take it when she could get it). No, she was here for one reason. For Dean. And she'd take all of it just to see the kid wake up.

So far, he seemed about as cooperative as the medic. Which was just about Lorelai's luck these days.

-o-

_ER_ had never been a show she commonly watched, but she'd seen it enough to get some ideas. The whole fast-paced camera work, doctors and nurses working seamlessly in a wave of hurry as the latest trauma was wheeled in the door. The faint look of concern that the good Dr. Carter or the good Dr. Greene showed for their patients as they placed a stethoscope on the various parts of the patient's exposed body.

Okay, so she watched more than she liked to let on. It's not like she expected the theme song to play as they wheeled through the doors, but there was an atmosphere of urgency, of barely controlled chaos that she assumed came with the territory.

But if operators could be easily annoyed, if medics could lack all personality, she probably should have suspected that the medical staff would never live up to expectation.

It was just _weird_ though, how anticlimactic it seemed. There was hardly any rushing, no quick streams of dialogue. It was just...simple.

Which was probably okay, except Dean was _unconscious_. The kid hadn't so much as twitched the whole ride over, and Lorelai couldn't deny that that was freaking her out, but that it was easier to feel weirded out by the lack of urgency from the hospital staff than it was to acknowledge that she was beginning to get pretty damn scared about how the kid was doing.

Because it didn't matter what the paramedics said. Dean still wasn't moving. He was still breathing, which was something, but movement seemed rather important to her as well. Though, honestly, she really would have preferred awareness. Awareness was a sign that one's brain was still fully functional. And she really didn't like to think about the poor kid's brain being impaired and knowing that it was all for such a stupid, stupid reason like her animated way of speaking and Kirk's ridiculous inventions. This was the kid who was talking about school and internship opportunities and Newsmobiles and...

_Holy crap_. Lorelai followed the paramedics where they were going, right through the hall, right past the admitting desk, and a plain-faced doctor was taking the charge now. She wasn't nearly as encouraging as Dr. Greene would have been, nor was she as plainly skilled as one Dr. Benton, nor was she as drop-dead gorgeous as one Dr. Ross, though her being a woman probably didn't help her in that regard. Lorelai could appreciate beauty in many forms, but she just couldn't bring herself to swing that way. Except maybe for Meredith Viera. She wasn't sure why, though.

Still, it was a doctor and she was instantly more likeable than the medic devoid of personality and Lorelai was inside the exam room before she realized just where she was and just what was going on.

The doctor was talking calmly, and Dean was lifted from one gurney to another, almost effortlessly, like the kid wasn't freakin' ginormous, with muscles so nicely chiseled that the statue David would be envious. And still, nothing. Dean was as lifeless on the new gurney as he was on the old, his arms long by his sides, his legs straight and still, and his head held steady the incumbent neck brace.

"Okay," the doctor was saying as she pulled a stethoscope off her neck. "I want to get a new set of vitals here."

So that part _was_ going to come true, Lorelai thought, pleased that at least something seemed to be going right.

But then the nurse cut away at Dean's shirt, which was rather a pity, because it had been a nice-looking shirt, a newer one. Red and blue, stripes, and she figured the kid had to buy at the long and tall stores to fit those shoulders--

And that chest. She had seen his arms and she had been impressed. Without his shirt, he was damn near criminally perfect.

It was a credit to the nurse's professionalism that she didn't stop to gawk a moment. Heavens knew that Lorelai did. What had Rory been _thinking_?

But once she managed to close her mouth and remember that _Dean was unconscious_, Lorelai became aware of the electrodes on the kid's chest and the sudden beeping of the heart monitor.

Someone had produced a wallet, which meant there had been some groping going on, and if Lorelai hadn't been so wide-eyed about the entire process, she might have found the need to comment. The doctor was saying, however, "Are you his mother?"

She was waiting to hear the answer when Lorelai became vaguely aware the doctor was talking to her. "What?"

The doctor looked a little perturbed but he repeated nonetheless. "You. Are you his mother?"

"Me?" Lorelai asked. "No, I mean. No."

The doctor seemed again perturbed by her answer and instead turned to the nurse next to him. "Kathy, find this kid's parents or next of kin or someone. I'm sure they'll want to know we've got him here."

Kathy, who was apparently the tall, skinny nurse, took the wallet and nodded. Lorelai didn't watch her go. While calling Dean's parents was undoubtedly crucial to the process, it was far less interesting than watching what was up with Dean. Because she needed to know if Dean was okay or not. It may not have been her business necessarily, but it would be difficult to go on her daily routine knowing she'd seen a kid get mowed over and didn't know how it turned out.

"Ma'am, you were with him?" the doctor asked, and it took a full five seconds for Lorelai to remember she was actually _there_. She'd been so intent on blending into the background that she had neglected to account for her own presence there. Which was kind of a surreal feeling, if she thought about it, but there wasn't really time to think about it since this was a hospital and Dean Forester was out cold on a gurney, and the doctor was speaking to _her_.

"Oh, yes," she said, not moving from her spot near the door. She wasn't usually prone to shyness, but this situation was so far out of her control that it wasn't even funny. "I was there. Saw it all."

"He hit his head on the pavement?"

"Sidewalk," Lorelai clarified.

"And he was hit...?"

Lorelai was pretty sure they'd covered this already, that despite the paramedic's lack of a personality he'd actually been fairly detailed with his account of what happened. Still, this was a doctor and she was treating Dean, so Lorelai could be bothered to repeat herself. "Yeah, with a motorized bike," she said. It didn't sound any less ridiculous this time.

"How fast?"

"I didn't really have a stopwatch--"

The doctor seemed distracted and a bit tired by her answers. "But I can assume that he was hit with some force."

"Of course," Lorelai said. "I mean, it's not like he just _fell_ over. I mean, look at him. The kid looks like he keeps in shape, athletic. Somehow I doubt his balance is that precarious--"

"And he lost consciousness?"

"Uh, does he look awake?"

"I mean, initially. You said he lost consciousness, but then came to."

"Oh, yeah," Lorelai said, a little chagrined. She was being talked to at least, unlike with a medic who would remain anonymous, but she was being talked to like she was _five_. Or maybe ten.

The doctor was leaning over Dean, peeling back an eyelid. "And how was he acting?"

"Confused. Dazed. A little dizzy. I got him inside and he started acting really weird."

"Weird?" the doctor asked, looking up from her work peeling back Dean's other eyelid. It was a little fascinating to watch, with Dean's eye open but no response from the kid.

So what if weird wasn't a medical term. Sue her. She wasn't a doctor. "You know, talking to me like I was someone else, not really knowing what year it was, that kind of thing. All the kind of stuff that makes one think, _Gee, I should call 9-1-1_, which is what I did. Hence the reason we're here."

The doctor seemed fairly indifferent to her story, and Lorelai was fairly indifferent to her indifference. She was too intent on watching Dean, on watching him being played with again and his utter lack of response. Which, it'd been, what? Twenty-five minutes? Shouldn't he be awake?

The nurse was conversing with the doctor, making notes on a chart. And then the doctor pulled the medic's friendly little trick, using her knuckles on Dean's sternum. The second time watching it was no less fascinating than the first, but it occurred to Lorelai this time that it would be immensely uncomfortable. For Dean, that is. Well, maybe the doctor, too. And certainly for Lorelai who just had to _watch_ the entire thing unfold with only a vague clue of what on earth was going on.

This time, just like before, there was a response. Dean flinched, deeper this time, his arms twitching in protest and a muffled mewl escaping his lips (which was practically the sound of a _four_ year old, as if it could get any worse).

"Dean?" the doctor asked, leaning close. "Dean, can you heard me?"

Maybe Dean could hear her, but really, who would want to answer a question like that? Much less to a person who had just kneaded his chest for the heck of it?

But Dean moved a little more, his head tossing slightly in its brace. He mumbled.

The doctor nodded, telling something to the nurse.

Lorelai waited to be included in the news. "What is it?" she asked.

"We're just assessing his level of consciousness," the doctor explained.

"Which is?"

The doctor looked up at her again, this time really looking at her with a critical air. "You're a friend of Dean's?"

"More like a casual acquaintance, really," Lorelai attempted to clarify. "My daughter used to date him for awhile, on and off, until they broke up for good, but then it wasn't really for good even though Dean got married but it didn't work out but it didn't work out with my daughter either and it was really kind of complicated and I hadn't really talked to him since. Until today when he was walking by my house and we started talking and then he got hit with the bike and he was passing out and--"

"Ma'am," the doctor interrupted with a placating smile on her face. "We appreciate your help, but we're going to have to ask you to leave now."

"But, how is he?"

"We're going to take him for more tests, but I can't release any more information to you since you're not family."

Not family? So she wasn't family? Didn't daughter's ex-boyfriend's mother count for anything? Possibly? And isn't a town like Stars Hollow supposed to be one big happy family?

But there was no use arguing. She could see it on the doctor's face. Apparently policies were policies and she could _try _to stay, but getting forcibly removed by security probably wouldn't improve her chances of checking up on Dean's progress.

Instead, she offered a meager smile. "Okay. Well, if you need to know any more details, you know, like the color of the bike that hit him, just let me know. I'll be in the waiting room."

The doctor looked at her funny and the nurse positively stared at her like she'd sprouted a horn in her forehead (which would be rather remarkable) and Lorelai smiled again, giving Dean one more look over. He had returned to stillness, long and limp, and Lorelai could only hope that she'd be able to finish her conversation with him. Because suddenly, it seemed like there was a lot left to say to him. About college, about what he'd been up to, about Rory, about the dangerous quality of motorized bikes and starting a petition against them.

It would have to wait, though, and Lorelai ducked out of the room.

-o-

If Lorelai had ever felt flustered, now was a prime example of it. Seeing Dean like that--so vulnerable--it had been hard--really hard, even harder than seeing him passed out on her couch. It was supposed to be easier here, in the hospital, with all the trained staff milling about, but all it did was make him look smaller, weaker, even more like a helpless five year old than before.

Which only ramped up Lorelai guilt, because this was still kind of her fault. Not purposefully and she wasn't the idiot who had run him over, but it was still hard to watch. To see Dean stripped down to nothing and treated so indifferently. Like an object, not a person. A patient, not a human being.

Funny, that was pretty much how he was treated in Stars Hollow anyway. Ever since losing Rory, he'd been the object of gossip and derision. She'd never thought about it before, how impersonal all that was, and how empty that must make the kid feel.

She sort of hoped that she never had to tell him that'd she'd been there to see it. Or anyone for that matter.

In fact, she just wanted to go home.

But she couldn't just go home. Not with Dean as he was and not knowing for sure what was going on. The doctor's hadn't been worried, hadn't sounded frantic--it hadn't even been fast-paced like she'd expected. But she still needed to talk to Dean, to apologize, to--

Crap, parents at six o'clock. Not hers, not that that would have been a good thing either, but Dean's. They were nothing more than casual acquaintances. When two high school kids dated, it was sort of necessary to at least know who the parents were. They'd had no other cause to socialize, not even when Rory still attended the public school. Lorelai was many things, but a good room mother? Not so much. Plus, the Foresters had moved to town just as Rory left for Chilton, which had minimized their chance meetings even more.

She did know that they'd been friendly, at first, but that by the end, they hadn't been a huge fan of Rory.

Well, she hadn't been a huge fan of Dean at that point either, so she couldn't really blame them there. And so that had pretty much ended any friendliness between them, reducing them to mere civility when they were forced to interact. Which was rare. If ever.

The couple now looked distracted. Which made sense, as they were in a hospital looking to see what had happened to their son. Lorelai had been there, done that--well, not _exactly_ that, but close enough--either way, she knew that looking for an update on a loved one was never fun, and she did not envy them.

Nor did she envy herself. What was she supposed to say to the parents of her daughter's ex-boyfriend? Much less the parents of her daughter's ex-boyfriend who had had his heart broken by said daughter at least three times? And did Lorelai need to mention the fact that they were the parents of her daughter's ex-boyfriend whose marriage had fallen apart thanks partly to her daughter's presence?

For a second, she thought maybe she could get away without talking to them. She could sneak by and have them all assume that they had no business together. But they looked all tense and nervous, hands wrapped together and she _was_ a witness...she couldn't just _leave_ them like that.

"Randy, May," she said as she approached. "Hi."

They blinked once, twice. "Lorelai," May said finally, distractedly. "Hello."

"You're here for Dean, right?" she asked.

That definitely piqued their interest, and suddenly she wasn't the mother of their son's ex-girlfriend, but rather the person who could tell them about their kid. "You know about Dean?" Randy asked, his hand going protectively around May's shoulders.

Lorelai tried to smile. "Yeah, I'm afraid so," she said. "I mean, not that I'm afraid about Dean, but just that I was there when it happened."

"He's okay?" May asked.

"Well, he's kind of unconscious, but the medics told me that he'd probably be okay," Lorelai said. "They needed to run some tests or something before they asked me to leave."

"Tests? What tests?" May asked, nearly wailed, and Lorelai could not help but wonder if she spent her free time watching General Hospital or something, because she had the melodramatic response to medical emergencies down pat. Lorelai would have to pay attention if she wanted to ramp up her own responses in the future.

"Just...tests," Lorelai said. "I really don't know for sure. They didn't want to tell me much since, you know, I'm not family."

May looked distraught. Randy looked distrustful. "Why were you with him to begin with?"

"He was walking by my place," she said. "I never really figure out why. He said he was just taking a walk and I was trying to do some gardening and we started talking and really, you'd be surprised how much he knows about gardening."

May now looked bewildered. Randy looked impatient. "So how did he get hurt?"

"Oh! Right," Lorelai said. "He was hit by a bike."

May's face contorted. "A bike?"

"Yeah," Lorelai said. "A motorized bike. Knocked him over pretty good and he was out for a minute. He came to and I was making sure he was okay when he went out again, which is when I called for help and then the ambulance came and Dean didn't wake up which is how I ended up here."

They were both staring at her now, a bit incredulously.

"Oh," May said. "Well."

Randy's brow darkened. "I suppose we owe you thanks then," Randy said. "For making sure he got here."

"Ah, hey, you'd do the same. I mean for me. Or my kid. Or whatever," she said with a smile. No need mentioning the role her hands had played in the ordeal. It wasn't like that was really her fault, anyway. Those things had minds of their own sometimes. She was pretty sure.

Randy frowned a little, and May seemed to be deflating. "We need to see the doctor," she said.

"Right," Lorelai said. "Last I saw him, he was just down that way." She pointed back to the exam room.

"Thank you," May said absently.

"Our younger daughter--she's in the waiting room. We didn't want her around, in case...," Randy said, his voice trailing off. "But do you think that you could sit with her? Just until we get back. Explain to her a little what happened. I think she's pretty nervous."

"Oh, well--"

"We'd really appreciate it," May chimed in. "Just until we can get back."

"Sure," Lorelai said finally with a fake smile. It was not a responsibility she _wanted_ to undertake, but their kid was in an exam room and Lorelai knew damn well that he was still pretty out of it and she would not want to be them. At all. So she could babysit a teenage girl, right? She did _raise_ one, though she was pretty sure Rory was not the run-of-the-mill teenage girl.

"Thank you," May said, so sincerely, that for a second Lorelai forgot her own guilt, forgot how much she didn't want to talk to Dean's sister, how much she didn't want to sit here and play the hero to these people.

But what was she going to do? Tell them no? Tell them to forget it and walk out?

She wasn't heartless. Sentimentality wasn't her thing, but a bitch, she was not. Besides, if she wanted to know about Dean, sticking close to the family was the way to go. "Please," she said. "Don't mention it."

-o-

Finding the waiting room was the easy part. Remembering that she had gallantly promised to babysit was not. Lorelai had been all intent on walking out, feeling like she'd done something great, when she remembered that she actually had to _do_ that something.

_Damn, little sister_. She remembered her. Vaguely. She'd seen her a few times, knew what she looked like. It wasn't like they'd met often, but Rory had talked about her. Dean had, too. It was Tara or Clarice or...

"Clara!" she exclaimed, approaching the girl sitting by herself in the corner of the room. "Hi."

The girl looked up at her, a little uncertain. Though she was blonde, she had the same well-defined features Dean had. Though she was tall and skinny like Dean had been when Lorelai'd first met him, it was more becoming on her, making her look older than she probably was. Which was painfully apparent when the girl opened her mouth to speak--though Clara could look the part of a teenager, she still had the vocal intonation of a pre-teen girl.

As if the facial similarities weren't enough to equate Clara with Dean, she had that same wrinkle between her eyebrows when she looked concerned. "Hi," she replied, a little coldly, a little uncertainly, almost haughty.

Which maybe was understandable. Lorelai was a relative stranger, after all, and anything Clara _did_ know about her was that she was Rory's mother, the same Rory that had stolen Dean's heart and trampled on it time and again before letting it go its depressed way. "Your parents asked me to sit with you," Lorelai explained.

The response Clara offered her was full of disdain. Of the pre-teen variety. Lorelai did not miss those days—her own or Rory's. "I know," Clara said. "I don't know why. I'm not a baby."

"Nope," Lorelai agreed, noting the fashionable clothes that probably cost her way too much and the smattering of makeup. "But you know how parents are--over-protective. I'm sure they mean well and they're worried enough about Dean--"

The girl's face darkened and her posture stiffened. "Is Dean okay?"

Lorelai's guilt bubbled up. "Oh, yeah," she said. "He just hit his head a little bit."

Clara looked down, her attitude melting away a little. "Last time we were here, Dean was hurt really bad."

The kid cared about her brother. That much was plainly obvious. And her parents didn't even have the decency to take her with them to see what was up. She supposed they wanted to shield her--just in case--but keeping kids in the dark was not a policy Lorelai had ever abided by. It only caused more grief in the end. At least, that's how she'd dealt with Rory, and it seemed to have worked. Rory was, after all, a college graduate, started in a career, and, in general, well-adjusted despite her obsessive tendency to enjoy CSPAN. "Well this is different," Lorelai assured her. "Last time was a fluke."

"He shocked himself," Clara said, looking up at Lorelai, almost tentatively.

"And this time he hit his head," Lorelai concluded. "See, very different."

"So he's okay?"

Lorelai hesitated, shrugging a little. "They've got to check his head out," she said. "You know, make sure he still has a brain."

The joke was lost on her. But Lorelai figured her timing wasn't ideal. Clara still looked at her, quite serious. "But he's not dead?"

"Dead?" Lorelai asked, lifting her brows quizzically. "No, not dead."

"How do you know?"

"Well, I was there," she explained. "I saw it happen and I was with Dean when he came to the hospital. He was pretty out of it and it may take him a bit to wake up, but he's definitely _not_ dead."

"Is he hooked up to machines? Like before?"

Lorelai hadn't seen Dean before, though she'd heard all about it. From what she gathered, Dean had hovered near death, dependent on machines as he body found the will to live in the wake of the horrific accident.

Which probably meant it'd been touch and go for a while, but that as soon as the kid's brain reset itself, all was well. "A few," she relented. "You can't be in one of these places without being on _something_. I swear, those nurses have needle fetishes--they just like poking people and they use the IVs to make us think it's important."

Clara smiled a little. "Dean has to be okay," she said, settling back in her chair.

"Of course he does," Lorelai agreed, more relieved that Clara's tension had abated than anything else. She'd dealt with enough drama from the Forester clan today--she didn't need it from Dean's little sister. "He's a strong kid."

"He works out," Clara informed her helpfully. "At least once a day. He says he does cardio _and_ weights. That's the key, he says. To staying healthy."

Well, that explained the body, then. Perhaps Lorelai should be taking notes. Getting in stellar shape might be a good hobby.

"He's teaching me how," she went on. "Starting me out light."

"Always a good plan," Lorelai said with a nod. "Don't want to overtax yourself."

"He's also studying _all_ the time."

That piqued Lorelai's interest. "I thought he wasn't taking classes this summer."

"He's not," Clara said brightly. "But he wants to get ahead. He's always like that anymore. He spends half the day with his head in a book--technical books, novels, anything. He says he just wants to know more. That he can't know enough. Mom thinks he's just wasting his time, that he could be making money or something useful but Dean said he doesn't need the money."

Didn't need the money? What was the kid doing--selling drugs on the side? Because last time Lorelai checked, college was expensive. Room and board was expensive. The free time of a college student was _expensive_. And last she checked, Dean Forester did not come from money. In fact, Lorelai would guess that Clara's designer clothes were bought second-hand. It didn't make them less trendy, but a little less pricey.

"He got a scholarship," Clara announced proudly. "Covers everything."

"A full ride?" Lorelai asked, looking at her, surprised. She usually kept up with the town's gossip, and things like _full rides_ usually got touted pretty heavily. "Really?"

Clara nodded decidedly. "And he has a really good job on campus during the year. Works for a professor as a research assistant. Most undergraduates don't get that kind of opportunity."

Well, go figure. Dean Forester was a hotshot student. Rory wasn't the only Stars Hollow graduate destined for bigger and better things.

Which begged the question--why didn't anyone know about this? Lorelai had her fingers on the pulse of the town, and--

Clara was looking at her now, eyes wide with concern. "But don't tell anyone," she said. "Dean says I shouldn't talk about it. He says it's bragging. And Mom would be _so _mad at me if she knew. She's really weird about it."

"Weird? Like weird she buys all the newspapers with news of his achievements and makes shrines in the back of her closet?"

Shaking her head, Clara folded in a little on herself. "No, weird like, _weird_. Like she doesn't think it's real or something. Dad doesn't even talk about it, but Mom talks like it's going to change at any second. But it won't," Clara said confidently. "I mean, you should just _see_ Dean."

Oh, Lorelai had _seen_ Dean alright. And it was a sight to behold.

"He's so dedicated. It's just, like, everything I want to be." Clara looked around, almost conspiratorially. Then she leaned in closer to Lorelai. "But don't tell my mom that either. She'd like totally flip."

"Like, totally," Lorelai agreed with a solemn nod.

Clara smiled a little before settled back into her seat. "And you're sure Dean's okay?"

There was such hero worship in the kid's voice that it made Lorelai ache a little bit. For Clara, for Dean, for the siblings Rory never had. For the sibling's _she'd_ never had.

Dean would be okay. For Clara, he'd be okay. Lorelai didn't know why she was so sure of that, but, if anything, Dean was dependable, always had been. So she couldn't imagine that Dean would let Clara down.

"Your parents will be here soon," she assured her.

The kid smiled a little before looking away again, her eyes wandering to the stack of out of date magazines on the nearby table.

And Lorelai slouched in her chair, hoping that Dean didn't make her a liar. And thinking, just thinking, about what Rory would say if she were here. If she'd be worried, if her emotions would show. If she'd care at all.

-o-

Time passed slowly, probably for a lot of reason. First of all, she was sitting in a waiting room. It was pretty hard to distract oneself in a waiting room because, well, they were _waiting rooms_. It was pretty obvious why she was there and the whole concept of a room for waiting made the waiting all the more interminable.

Not to mention the fact that she was babysitting someone else's teenager. Teenagers shouldn't need to be babysat and she certainly had no overwhelming desire to babysit someone else's. She'd waited with her own through various and sundry activities and Clara wasn't a _bad_ kid by any stretch of the imagination, but it was awkward. As they didn't know each other at all. And as Clara was clearly a little nervous, a little restless, and a little snotty, all while being scared out of her mind about her brother.

Which was really the part that made it the worst. Not knowing what the heck was going on with Dean.

How had she ended up here anyway? From Dean's first attempts to date Rory, to his frustrations about Rory's commitment to him, to him falling off the marriage bandwagon, to...this? From his first _I love you_ to Rory to his last _I don't belong here, do I_, what had happened to him? From the kid destined to community college to a delayed college to a full-ride student? That mixture of pure manliness and uncertain childishness.

And all she'd done was talk with a little too much _zeal_ and now she was trying to psychoanalyze her daughter's very hot, though perhaps damned with low self-esteem, ex-boyfriend.

So involved were her thoughts that she hardly realized that Dean's parents were there until Clara was up and out of her chair. "How's Dean? Can I see him? Is he okay?"

Randy put a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Dean's going to be fine," he said. "He's got a bump on his head, but all the scans came back clear. He's got a concussion and they want to keep him overnight for observation, but he's going to be fine."

Clara's face lighted. "So can I see him?"

"Well, he's pretty groggy," her mother said.

"A few minutes would be good for both of them," Randy said.

"Well," May said, sounding reluctant.

"Come on," Randy said, rubbing Clara's arm. "You can help Dean stay awake for a little bit."

Clara smiled, bright and relieved.

"Let's go," Randy said. He looked at his wife. "Just for a few minutes. It can't hurt."

May didn't look so certain, but she didn't protest as her husband led Clara away. The woman looked tired, a little old with it.

"Well," Lorelai said, standing awkwardly. "Glad to hear he's okay."

Looking distractedly down the hallway, May finally turned to her. "Thank you," she said. "For watching Clara. We worry about her immensely these days. Especially with Dean being back."

"Oh," Lorelai said, looking for something to say to that. "Kids her age--they're very impressionable."

"Exactly," she replied. She leaned in a bit. "Dean's my son, and I love him, I do, but I can't figure out sometimes where I went wrong with him. I just want to make sure that Clara ends up on the straight and narrow. Explaining why Dean didn't go to college--"

"He's going now," Lorelai interjected.

"Finally," his mother amended. "And he does seem to be working hard. Pulling off the grades, but there's the rest of it. Trying to make Clara understand why what Dean did was wrong. I'm just so afraid of her getting attached to him again only to see him screw up. I keep waiting for the other shoe to fall. Things have been going so _well_."

"Well, that's good, right?" Lorelai tried. She wasn't sure what this conversation was about. How she'd ended up defending Dean, defending him to _his own mother_, the one person who should stand by her son through thick and thin. Rory had disappointed her, that was true, but that had never changed her faith in Rory. Her love of her. The one thing Rory needed above all else was the love and approval of her mother, and Lorelai had made plenty of mistakes in her life, but that had never been one of them. Rory had always known she was loved.

"It is," May conceded. She sighed a little. "I've just watched him screw his life up so often. It's so hard to hold my head up in town, sometimes. They all remember what he did to Lindsay. What he did to himself. Not to mention that stupidity at the diner. And now this."

"This wasn't his fault," Lorelai assured her quickly. Not unless being polite and the victim of surreal circumstance could be blamed on him. Which, at this point, she wasn't so sure.

The other woman smiled benignly. "He said the last time wasn't his fault either," she said.

There was nothing to say to this, nothing Lorelai _could _say. She hadn't witnessed the last time, and all she knew were the rumors around town. She had to admit, even she hadn't been surprised. A little concerned, of course, because she had liked the kid overall, but given everything...well, it just wasn't surprising. He _had_ made a rather large mess of his life, and she wasn't naive enough to think it was all his fault, but a large part of it was.

But him going to school--that was a good sign, she'd thought. Out of left field, but a good sign. And if things were going as well as Clara said they were...well, then it certainly was unnerving to sit here and listen to his mother pretty much predict doom and gloom for her not-so-little boy.

Kids were kids. They made mistakes. Even Rory--her perfect, precious Rory--had succumbed to more than one youthful indiscretion (as in, _stealing a boat_). And if what Lorelai had learned about Dean today was any indication, Dean was making every effort to conquer his.

And that, no matter how she looked at it, was noble. It was good. It said something about his character. And why wasn't his mother saying these things to _her_?

"Well," Lorelai said. "Kids."

May gave a little laugh. "Yeah," she agreed. "Kids. How much easier my life would have been..."

She didn't finish the sentence. Lorelai was glad. Because she was pretty sure that if May _had_ finished the sentence, she would have been forced to bitch-slap the woman. Because no one deserved to have that said about them. Not that most parents didn't think it from time to time, like Lorelai herself hadn't thought it from time to time. But the tone of May's voice, the look on her face, like Dean was some degenerate beyond all hope, like he'd committed rape and murder and a whole host of other horrific, unforgivable crimes.

And she _meant _it. She meant it. Like if she could trade Dean in, she would in a heartbeat.

No wonder Dean had self-esteem issues. At this point, the kid was lucky if he wasn't suffering irreparable damage.

"Yeah," Lorelai said. "Damn them for being born. Who'd a thought, right?"

Before May could process what she was saying, Lorelai smiled blandly. "I think I'll just run by and see Dean before I head on out. If you know, you need something, just let me know."

And she walked away, hoping that the woman got the message, but somehow doubting that she would.

-o-

Finding Dean's room wasn't as easy as she thought it should be. Sure room numbers were in, well, numerical order, but it took her about two minutes to realize that she had no idea what room Dean was in. She figured that he was in a regular room by now, but she couldn't be sure. And if he were awake, he wouldn't be in any special kind of ward, would he? And Randy and May, despite their apparent lack of pride in their son, weren't especially concerned, so she hedged her bets and wandered the floor, hoping that no one would stop her and ask her what on _earth_ she was doing. Because she could give them an answer, a long one in fact, but it wasn't one she was sure would get her very far.

But, luck was with her. Finally. After knocking Dean into the path of Kirk's bike and having him pass out cold on her couch, she was finally get the stroke of luck she'd been sorely lacking all day.

The door was ajar and she could sight of his floppy brown hair.

And double her luck. He was alone. Apparently a _short_ visit for Clara was quite short indeed. She could imagine the girl was sulking all the way home. Not that Lorelai could blame her. Her parents treated her like she was five and Clara didn't even have the pathetic look of a five year old going for her like Dean did. Not to mention her parents appeared to be utter asses.

Still, Clara's misfortune would work to her favor. Lorelai really wanted to check in with Dean by herself. Lingering by the door, she hesitated, feeling suddenly out of place, watching him. More luck going her way--she saw him long before he noticed her. Head injuries perhaps made people vaguely oblivious to their surroundings. But at least he was awake this time. Floppy Dean was not really something she wanted to repeat.

He was propped up in the bed, which was positioned so he was mostly upright. He still sported the IV and there was a nice array of monitors by his side, but they all seemed to be silent. He was in the far bed, but the one closest to the door was vacant, and the curtain between them was mostly open. Sunlight was filtering through the window, falling on Dean, and the kid, for his part, was staring wistfully toward it.

Not really wistful. More sad. Depressed maybe. Trapped.

Okay, he looked downright miserable.

Before, he'd looked pale. He'd looked sick and weak and everything that stirred her maternal instincts full force. But this? This was making Lorelai's heart break in a whole new way.

Because he looked withdrawn and desolate, a look she recognized all too well—from herself, when she had first moved to Stars Hollow, alone and jobless and pregnant. "Hey," she said, gently, her smile tentative, as if she was afraid of appearing too happy.

His eyes lifted and she saw him visible resolve himself, straightening in the bed and a smile crossing his face. "Hey."

"You're looking better," she offered, moving slowly inside. She'd been in hospital rooms before, but they weren't her favorite places. They ranked up there with cemeteries and Friday nights at her parents' house. "Less, you know, limp and unconscious, which is a hard look for anyone to pull off."

"Yeah, sorry for giving you the scare," he said. "I didn't realize how bad off I was."

She raised her eyebrows. She hadn't been looking for an apology and it really did seem rather ridiculous. Him apologizing for a concussion that he was in no way responsible for. "Oh yeah, since you should feel terrible about sustaining significant head trauma. That was simply terrible of you. I'm not sure I can forgive you. You know, not until you change my water jug fifteen times."

"It's a small price to pay," he said. "And really--I am sorry. They say I sort of passed out on your couch."

"You don't remember?" she inquired.

A hint of blush colored his cheeks and he looked at his hands. "Things are a little fuzzy."

"So you don't remember breaking into song and performing the whole first act of _Guys and Dolls_?"

His eyes widened slightly. "I'm pretty sure I'd remember that," he said.

"Don't be so sure," she said. "If this whole engineering thing doesn't work out, I think you may have a very good shot a Broadway. Or at least community theater. In an off year."

His lips quirked into a smile. "I'll keep that in mind," he said. "And I hope...I mean, I hope I wasn't too much of an imposition."

"Dean!" she said. "Really! Enough with the apologies. You got run over by the only motorized bike in Stars Hollow. Probably in all of Connecticut, for all we know. It's not your fault. It was an accident and you hit your head. You are not responsible for that or for whatever random and crazy things that may have ensued afterwards. If I hadn't tried to play the good nurse to you, then we could have avoided all this entirely."

"You tried to play the good nurse?" Dean asked, surprised. "Really?"

"Hey, I have my moments," she protested.

"You can't even kill a spider."

"First aid skills are not related to arachnids," she pointed out. "Surely a kid with a full ride to U Conn would know that."

He paled at that, his jaw clenching. "How did you know about that?"

She smiled awkwardly. Her cover was blown. She'd held it up for all of thirty seconds. To her credit, Clara hadn't said it was a secret, so therefore there was no breech of trust. She could hope. "Your sister is rather proud of you," she explained. "Your parents had me do a little babysitting while they checked on you and Clara started spilling all your accomplishments."

This time he blushed again, a deep red burning up his neck.

"You know, most people are _proud_ of that kind of thing," she noted pointedly. "And yet you act like it's some awful secret that must be kept under wraps."

He shrugged one shoulder half-heartedly. "It just doesn't seem like that big of deal."

"That big of deal?" she asked, incredulous. "That big of deal? Dean, what do you think _is _a big deal. I mean, what, you're waiting to win a Nobel before you let people in town know about what you're doing?"

"Well, it's not like it's their business," Dean said. "And I've made the town gossip in enough ways; no sense in keep trying to make it."

Ah. There it was. The hurt behind it all. She should have guessed, because it was pretty obvious in retrospect. The kid had always been sensitive in that way, not that he liked to show it, but he cared about doing the right thing. He'd always tried to do right by Rory--_tried_, anyway. And all of that respectability, all that dependability--well, it kind of went by the wayside when he got married far, far too young and then abandoned those vows before they even had a chance to mean something.

She'd always suspected that his own guilt was part of the reason he'd never made it work with Rory. Rory's Ivy League ways were certainly part of the problem, even if Rory hadn't been ready to see that, but the kid had been too weighed down with his own failures to be able to make it work. He didn't believe he deserved Rory or happiness or anything--no more than Luke had, no more than her own parents had. Dean was his own worst enemy, and Lorelai hadn't realized just how pervasive it'd been until now.

Because it was _years_ later. Rory had grown and changed. Dean had grown and changed. Yet, when he was confronted with his past, when he was in this _town_, his self-esteem plummeted to near non-existent levels. That accounted for the kicked puppy look. It accounted for his sudden desire to keep all his success a secret. The kid still didn't believe he deserved anything.

"Aw, come on, Dean," she said, keeping her voice light. "You know people like good news as much as they do bad news. In Stars Hollow, anyway. I mean, why else would people still be talking about Miss Patty's award winning pie venture?"

"Because she won't let anyone forget about it."

"True," Lorelai said. "But you don't think it's worth a try?"

He sighed a little. "I keep thinking it'll get better," he admitted finally. "Like this will all get easier. Because when I'm at school, it's different. I'm different. I get to be someone else. I get a fresh start. But every time I come back home, every time I even _talk _to my parents, it's like I go back to being that same screw up I was back then. It's been nearly four years, and I still feel like I can feel Lindsay's ring around my finger and Rory's hands in my hair. I can't escape it, no matter what I do."

She sank down to the chair beside his bed. There was truth to that. About how people didn't forget and even more rarely forgave. Stars Hollow was many things, but a great place to fall from grace wasn't among them. Because everyone knew about everything--and no one wanted to let it go. Apparently not even parents. "Hey, that's just Stars Hollow. It doesn't _mean_ anything. We exist in a microcosm here, you know? And they don't know the real you. They don't know about what you've managed to do."

He glanced up at her, just for a moment, and his eyes were sad. "I don't deserve it," he said. "Their forgiveness. A second chance. Coming back here, suffering the stares, the gossip. It's like a penance, you know? I keep thinking that if I live it long enough then maybe that'll make it right."

"Dean, you're clinging to your scarlet A like it's going to make things better," she said. "It didn't work for Hester. It's not going to work for you."

"Living without it didn't work for Dimmesdale either," Dean said with a strangled laugh.

"Yeah, well, your mistakes didn't spawn a demon child either," she countered. "You've paid your dues, Dean. It's time to forgive yourself. If you want to let the whole town believe you're a screw up, that's one thing. But it's about time you started believing something better for _yourself_. You've got a good thing going for you, and it's not just Stars Hollow that's the problem. It's the fact that _you _can't let it go."

He was looking at her through half-veiled eyes, his head turned a little away defensively, but his eyes drawn to her in hope. The five year old was back--in full force. But this time it was just hurt and dejection of a child swatted on the butt and told to learn their merry business. This time it was almost hopeful, but almost afraid to be. "Lorelai," he said finally. "You're not...mad at me?"

It was a question she'd clearly thought about for herself ever since the whole marriage debacle. She'd put it well enough aside while he and Rory had given it another go, but she couldn't deny the lingering feelings of distrust she'd felt for the kid. Even now, all these years later, she could still see him, out of breath in her kitchen, looking guilty as hell. She could see Rory's bed, hear Rory's excuses, and yeah, that made it hard to take. She wasn't a conventional mother in many senses, but ever the most lenient mothers would have issues with Dean Forester.

But...it'd been Rory's excuses as much as his. It'd been her choice as much as his. Lorelai didn't know the details, but she didn't have to. She knew that Dean had been unhappy and that Rory had been lonely. Rory's slightest inclination, and Dean had always, _always_ loved her. Didn't make it right. Didn't make Lorelai feel better about it. But it was human.

And really, looking at Dean now, he _wasn't_ that kid. Wasn't even the kid who'd watched videos with them. He wasn't the kid who went with Rory to bookstores for hours on end. Wasn't the kid who would rearrange his entire schedule to see Rory. Wasn't the kid who got married too young and divorced too soon. It wasn't him. This was...different. He was different.

"Dean," she began. "I've probably been mad at you a few times over the years. What happened with you and Rory...I don't even know anymore. But it doesn't matter. Rory moved on. She grew up. She learned. And even with all of it and how much of it I wish _hadn't_ happened, you knowing her gave her more good than bad. More than she'll ever know. And I'll always be grateful of that."

"But I--"

She sighed. "Dean, really. You were just a kid. No matter what happened then, no matter how anyone feels about it, it's not unforgivable, you know? I don't think people lord it over you as much as you think they do. They just see you, sad and withdrawn, and figure that's why. That you haven't gotten over it. You remind people of it because you think you _deserve_ it. No one deserves that. Well, maybe _some _people, but not most people. Especially not you."

He was looking down again, his shoulders almost painfully hunched. It was remarkable how a guy so ridiculous _big_ as he was could make himself look so small. Could revert to that five year old at a moment's notice. He was hearing her, listening to her, but she could see that he wasn't quite willing to believe it yet.

"You know," she continued, a little tentative. "I understand this better than you think."

Dean snorted a little at that. "You lost your first love and then cheated on your spouse and didn't get the one thing you wanted anyway?"

"Well, obviously not _exactly_ that," she conceded. "But I don't know if you've done the math recently, but just how do you think Rory came into this world?"

He finally looked up, a little startled. "Well I assumed, you know, a man and a woman..."

"Ah, indeed," Lorelai said. "But consider the _ages_. I mean, I know at this point you probably still see people over 30 as all the same age--_old_, but I'm not nearly as old as I should be."

"I always figured you had a really good skin care secrets," Dean said.

"Ha! I wish!" Lorelai said. "It's all headed downhill pretty fast, but the fact that I'm about eight years younger than all of Rory's classmates also kind of gives me an edge."

Dean sighed. "You told me once you were sixteen."

"Yep," Lorelai said. "I was barely able to drive legally when I had Rory."

He'd already known it of course, but it seemed like he thought about it for the first time. What it meant. And not even the inherent gentleman in him could hide it. "Sixteen years old. Still in high school. You can imagine just how thrilled my parents were with that one."

The kid looked a little awed at that. "They didn't even like me for not having concrete college plans."

"I know," Lorelai said emphatically. "I tried living with them for awhile. You know, being a kid and all, it's not like I had a lot of other recourses. But it was impossible. The way they looked at me. The comments. It was like every time I turned around, there they were, just _looking_ at me. Judging me. Sometimes I still feel that way. Like I'll never live up to anything in their eyes."

His face softened. "You get along with them now."

"Now, sort of. Sometimes, anyway. I mean, it's never going to be perfect, and I ran to Stars Hollow to get away from them. Because it seemed like, if I stayed there, I would be nothing but their problem child. But here, in Stars Hollow, I didn't have to be. I could be someone else and people wouldn't just see the screwed up Gilmore girl. They'd see me, which in some ways isn't always much better, as you can imagine."

Dean smiled at that, shyly, ducking his head back down. "I can't imagine anyone truly thinking poorly of you. Maybe exasperated with you from time to time, but never poorly."

Very diplomatic of him, she had to hand him that. Not that it surprised it. It was so typically _Dean_. "And that's what makes you a gentleman," she said. "And the point of this story, believe it or not, isn't about me, no matter how self-centered it may have seemed. It's about the fact that I get what it's like to try to get over something. I get what it's like to feel the stares. And I also get what it's like to let go and start over. I'm able to walk into my parents' house now and I don't _like _it always, but I'm able to look them squarely in the face and feel like I have a place there. Because one mistake didn't ruin me for life. And it doesn't ruin you, either. Hold your head up high and face the world. Or, rather, Stars Hollow. They'll all come around and forget it when you do."

His smile faded, a little sad. He had that look, that look that he knew she was right, but that it was just so hard to accept. Which was, she remembered, part of the process. The self-doubt, trying to pull yourself inward to insulate yourself. Becoming an emotional Eskimo because that was the only way to protect yourself. It was also the only way to keep yourself from living. And it wasn't like she had it all figured out. Because she may be alone and she may not really be sure how her story was going to end up, but she knew that she'd be okay. And she didn't owe anything to anybody and if she wanted to be a dirty old woman, then the critics be damned.

But she _was_ older, maybe not an old woman quite yet, but experienced. She'd had time to grow and learn and put her past behind her where it belonged.

Dean was only 25 and he hadn't had a chance to get away, not long enough to make it last, anyway. He was still controlled by expectation. Loyal and dependable to the end, this kid was, even when the people around him used that dependability to make him the town screw-up for the rest of his life.

He lifted his eyes again. "Thanks," he said. "I mean, for everything."

She had to smile. His thanks was genuine, even if he wasn't ready to accept everything she said. But she couldn't change that, no more than she could change Rory's decisions or the town's perceptions. "No problem," she said. "I'm always looking for a little excitement in my life, and you passing out certainly qualifies for that. Plus, I'm sure I'll have spectacular stories to tell. I'll be the star at the diner all week. Don't worry, though, I'll leave out your Broadway tryout. I'd hate to ruin your macho image that you're so clearly working these days."

A flush once again raced up his cheeks. "I can't believe you had to see me like that."

"Oh, I've seen much worse," Lorelai promised him. "Though, seriously, what workout _are _you doing to get your chest like _that_?"

This made the flush overtake his entire face, which she took real pleasure in.

"Aw, don't worry, Dean," she said. "I was just appreciating the scenery. There's a silver lining in every situation."

"And what is it for me?"

She smiled brightly, cocking her head. "Getting to reconnect with me, of course," she said. "Which, I mean, by the way. I know things are, well, weird between us with what happened. But there's no reason to be a stranger, okay? I mean, I don't want you to pass out on my couch every day, but if you walk by again, you don't need to linger on the sidewalk. The house is much safer."

"True," Dean said. "And I've had quite enough of hospitals for the time being."

"But it's like your summer vacation thing," Lorelai cajoled. "The weather gets warm, Dean Forester needs a trip to the hospital to keep him sane. Or insane. Whichever you prefer."

This brought out a real smile, dimpled and all, which was what she'd been going for. "Yeah," he said. "Let's just hope it's _at least_ a year before I end up back here."

"You think maybe they'll give you a frequent user card? You know, like so many visits and you get stitches for free? Or maybe a free surgery of your choice. And if I were you, I'd pick the appendix. Those damn little organs, no good for anything."

"I'm rather anti-gall bladder," Dean said. "From what I've heard, you can live quite well without one of those."

"Good choice," Lorelai said. She rubbed her hands on her thigh and stood up. "And I think I'll go before the nurses come to offer you a sponge bath. I mean, I'm sure that'd be a very fun thing and all, but I already feel dirty enough as it is, so I'll spare us both that immodesty."

It was just too easy to make him blush; if anything, he'd become more respectful and dutiful since his teenaged years. "Thanks, Lorelai."

It wasn't just a _thanks for stopping by _or a _thanks for bothering with me _or even _thanks for picking me up off the ground_. But it was a _thanks for caring, for seeing something else_. "Hey, anytime," she said lightly. "I'll see you?"

"Yeah," he said, stronger now, and she believed him. "We'll see each other."

She gave him one more smile, one more once over, taking in the long hair, the bulky build of his body in the bed, the weariness on his face that made him look far, far too old. And all she could think was how much he'd grown up, how _well_ he'd grown up, and if other people couldn't see it, that was their fault.

Then she turned on her heel and made her way out into the hallway, and couldn't help but wonder why it'd taken her so long to see it.

No, what it'd taken her so long to care.

Well, maybe Dean wasn't the only one taking the scenic route in Stars Hollow. Lorelai was just glad that he was getting there in the end and that maybe she was, too.


End file.
